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THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 


From  the  Library  of 
BENNEHAN  CAMERON 

1854-1925 

Presented  by 
his  daughters 

Isabel  C.  Van  Lennep 

and 

Sally  C.  Labouisse 


38p  Slate  £)otts;laa  Wi%%in 


MOTHER  CAREY'S  CHICKENS.    Illustrated. 

ROBINETTA.    Illustrated. 

REBECCA    OF    SUNNYBROOK     FARM.      Holiday  Edition. 

Illustrated. 
SUSANNA  AND  SUE.    Illustrated. 

THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW.    With  decorations  and  illustrations. 
REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK  FARM. 
NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA.  Illustrated. 
ROSE  O'  THE  RIVER.    Illustrated  in  color. 
THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  INN.    Illustrated. 
THE  DIARY  OF  A  GOOSE  GIRL.     Illustrated. 
A  CATHEDRAL    COURTSHIP,  and    PENELOPE'S   ENG- 
LISH EXPERIENCES.  Illustrated. 
PENELOPE'S  PROGRESS. 
PENELOPE'S  IRISH  EXPERIENCES. 
PENELOPE'S    EXPERIENCES.     I.     England;     II.   Scotland; 

III.  Ireland;  Holiday  Edition.  With  many  illustrations  by  Charles 

E.  Brock. 
A   CATHEDRAL   COURTSHIP.     Holiday   Edition,    enlarged. 

Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Brock. 
THE  BIRDS'  CHRISTMAS  CAROL.     Illustrated. 
THE  STORY  OF  PATSY.     Illustrated. 

A    SUMMER  IN    A  CANON.    A  California  Story.     Illustrated. 
TIMOTHY'S  QUEST.     A  Story  for  Anybody,  Young  or  Old,  who 

cares  to  read  it.     Also  Holiday  Edition.     Illustrated. 
POLLY  OLIVER'S  PROBLEM.     Illustrated. 
THE  VILLAGE  WATCH-TOWER. 
MARM  LISA. 
NINE  LOVE  SONGS,  AND  A  CAROL.   Music  by  Mrs.  Wiggin. 

Words  by  Herrick,  Siljl,  and  others. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
Boston  and  New  York. 


MOTHER  CAREY'S  CHICKENS 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/mothercareyschicOOwiggi 


NOW,   MOTHER,    DO   YOU   LIKE   JULIA   CAREY  ? "    (p.  36) 


MOTHER  CAREYS 
CHICKENS 

BY 
KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 

Bs^i»i^PfPfl52ll 

. 

BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

(Cfce  fttoer#&e  $re&l  £ambri&0e 

1911 

COPYRIGHT,    I91O  AND    1911,    BY   THE    CURTIS   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 
COPYRIGHT,    191 1,   BY   KATE   DOUGLAS   RIGGS 

ALL   RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  September  iqii 


CONTENTS 

I.  Mother  Carey  Herself     ....       1 

II.  The  Chickens         .....  7 

HI.  The  Common  Denominator  .         .         .16 

IV.  The  Broken  Circle        ....         21 

V.  How  about  Julia?     .  .  .         .  .27 

VI.  Nancy's  Idea  .....         39 

VII.  "Old  Beasts  into  New"    .  .  .  .     52 

VHE.  The  Knight  of  Beulah  Castle       .  .         59 

IX.  Gilbert's  Embassy     .  .  .  .  .70 

X.  The  Careys'  Flitting     ....  83 

XI.  The  Service  on  the  Threshold  .         .     94 

XH.  Cousin  Ann    ......       104 

Xm.  The  Pink  of  Perfection    .         .         .  .115 

XTV.  Ways  and  Means 124 

XV.  Belonging  to  Beulah         ....  135 

XVI.  The  Post-Bag 143 

XVH.  Jack  of  All  Trades  .....  152 

XVm.  The  House  of  Lords      ....       163 


Contents 


XIX.  Old  and  New 

XX.  The  Painted  Chamber 

XXI.  A  Family  Rhomboid 

XXII.  Cradle  Gifts 

XXIII.  Nearing  Shiny  Wall 

XXIV.  A  Letter  from  Germany     . 
XXV.  "Following  the  Gleam" 

XXVI.  A  Zoological  Father  . 

XXVII.  The  Carey  Housewarming 

XXVIH.  "Tibi  Splendet  Focus" 

XXIX.  "Th'  Action  Fine" 

XXX.  The  Inglenook    . 

XXXI.  Grooves  of  Change 

XXXII.  Doors  of  Daring 

XXXIII.  Mother  Hamilton's  Birthday 

XXXIV.  Nancy  comes  Out 
XXXV.  The  Crimson  Rambler    . 


172 
183 
193 
204 
214 
223 
240 
252 
262 
271 
278 
291 
306 
318 
325 
336 
344 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  NOW,   MOTHER,    DO   YOU   LIKE    JlJLIA    CARET  ?  "  (p.  36) 

Frontispiece 

"Come  home,  children!" 98 

The  Entire  Family  lived  on  the  Front  Stairs  .  .  156 
"If   my   own   girls   would   write   me   letters   like 

this!" 196 

"Read  the  last  few  lines" 234 

Peter  crouched  on  the  Hearth  and  lighted  the  Fire    264 

"For  you  the  hearth-fire  glows" 274 

Mother  Carey  was  moved  to  the  Very  Heart  .  .  306 
"i  was  on  the  point  of  kissing  you"  .  -  .  .  .  316 
"Pick  that  little  cluster" 348 

From  drawings  by  Alice  Barber  Stephens. 


MOTHER  CAREY'S  CHICKENS 


MOTHER  CAREY  HERSELF 

"By  and  by  there  came  along  a  flock  of  petrels, 
who  are  Mother  Carey's  own  chickens.  .  .  .  They 
flitted  along  like  a  flock  of  swallows,  hopping  and 
skipping  from  wave  to  wave,  lifting  their  little 
feet  behind  them  so  daintily  that  Tom  fell  in  love 
with  them  at  once." 

Nancy  stopped  reading  and  laid  down  the  copy 
of  "Water  Babies"  on  the  sitting-room  table. 
"No  more  just  now,  Peter-bird,"  she  said;  "I 
hear  mother  coming." 

It  was  a  cold,  dreary  day  in  late  October,  with 
an  east  wind  and  a  chill  of  early  winter  in  the  air. 
The  cab  stood  in  front  of  Captain  Carey's  house, 
with  a  trunk  beside  the  driver  and  a  general  air 
of  expectancy  on  the  part  of  neighbors  at  the 
opposite  windows. 

Mrs.  Carey  came  down  the  front  stairway  fol- 
lowed by  Gilbert  and  Kathleen;  Gilbert  with  his 
mother's  small  bag  and  travelling  cloak,  Kath- 
leen with  her  umbrella;  while  little  Peter  flew  to 

1 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


the  foot  of  the  stairs  with  a  small  box  of  sand- 
wiches pressed  to  his  bosom. 

Mrs.  Carey  did  not  wear  her  usual  look  of 
sweet  serenity,  but  nothing  could  wholly  mar  the 
gracious  dignity  of  her  face  and  presence.  As  she 
came  down  the  stairs  with  her  quick,  firm  tread, 
her  flock  following  her,  she  looked  the  ideal  mo- 
ther. Her  fine  height,  her  splendid  carriage,  her 
deep  chest,  her  bright  eye  and  fresh  color  all 
bespoke  the  happy,  contented,  active  woman, 
though  something  in  the  way  of  transient  anxiety 
lurked  in  the  eyes  and  lips. 

"The  carriage  is  too  early,"  she  said;  "let  us 
come  into  the  sitting  room  for  five  minutes.  I 
have  said  my  good-byes  and  kissed  you  all  a 
dozen  times,  but  I  shall  never  be  done  until  I  am 
out  of  your  sight." 

"O  mother,  mother,  how  can  we  let  you  go!" 
wailed  Kathleen. 

"Kitty!  how  can  you!"  exclaimed  Nancy. 
"What  does  it  matter  about  us  when  mother  has 
the  long  journey  and  father  is  so  ill?" 

"It  will  not  be  for  very  long,  — it  can't  be," 
said  Mrs.  Carey  wistfully.  "The  telegram  only 
said  *  symptoms  of  typhoid';  but  these  low  fe- 
vers sometimes  last  a  good  while  and  are  very 
weakening,  so  I  may  not  be  able  to  bring  father 
back  for  two  or  three  weeks;  I  ought  to  be  in 


Mother  Carey  Herself 


Fortress  Monroe  day  after  to-morrow;  you  must 
take  turns  in  writing  to  me,  children!" 

"Every  single  day,  mother!" 

"Every  single  thing  that  happens." 

"A  fat  letter  every  morning,"  they  promised 
in  chorus. 

"If  there  is  any  real  trouble  remember  to  tele- 
graph your  Uncle  Allan  —  did  you  write  down 
his  address,  11  Broad  Street,  New  York?  Don't 
bother  him  about  little  things,  for  he  is  not  well, 
you  know." 

Gilbert  displayed  a  note-book  filled  with  me- 
moranda and  addresses. 

"And  in  any  small  difficulty  send  for  Cousin 
Ann,"  Mrs.  Carey  went  on. 

"The  mere  thought  of  her  coming  will  make 
me  toe  the  mark,  I  can  tell  you  that!"  was  Gil- 
bert's rejoinder. 

"Better  than  any  ogre  or  bug-a-boo,  Cousin 
Ann  is,  even  for  Peter!"  said  Nancy. 

"And  will  my  Peter-bird  be  good  and  make 
Nancy  no  trouble?"  said  his  mother,  lifting  him 
to  her  lap  for  one  last  hug. 

"I  '11  be  an  angel  boy  pretty  near  all  the  time," 
he  asserted  between  mouthf  uls  of  apple,  "  or  most 
pretty  near,"  he  added  prudently,  as  if  unwill- 
ing to  promise  anything  superhuman  in  the  way 
of  behavior.   As  a  matter  of  fact  it  required  only 

3 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


a  tolerable  show  of  virtue  for  Peter  to  win  en- 
comiums at  any  time.  He  would  brush  his  curly 
mop  of  hair  away  from  his  forehead,  lift  his  eyes, 
part  his  lips,  showing  a  row  of  tiny  white  teeth ; 
then  a  dimple  would  appear  in  each  cheek  and  a 
seraphic  expression  (wholly  at  variance  with  the 
facts)  would  overspread  the  baby  face,  where- 
upon the  beholder — Mother  Carey,  his  sisters, 
the  cook  or  the  chambermaid,  everybody  indeed 
but  Cousin  Ann,  who  could  never  be  wheedled  — 
would  cry  "Angel  boy!"  and  kiss  him.  He  was 
even  kissed  now,  though  he  had  done  nothing  at 
all  but  exist  and  be  an  enchanting  personage, 
which  is  one  of  the  injustices  of  a  world  where 
a  large  number  of  virtuous  and  well-behaved 
people  go  unkissed  to  their  graves ! 

"I  know  Joanna  and  Ellen  will  take  good  care 
of  the  housekeeping,"  continued  Mrs.  Carey, 
"and  you  will  be  in  school  from  nine  to  two,  so 
that  the  time  won't  go  heavily.  For  the  rest  I 
make  Nancy  responsible.  If  she  is  young,  you 
must  remember  that  you  are  all  younger  still, 
and  I  trust  you  to  her." 

"  The  last  time  you  did  it,  it  did  n't  work  very 
well ! "  And  Gilbert  gave  Nancy  a  sly  wink  to  re- 
call a  little  matter  of  family  history  when  there 
had  been  a  delinquency  on  somebody's  part. 

Nancy's  face  crimsoned  and  her  lips  parted 

4 


Mother  Carey  Herself 


for  a  quick  retort,  and  none  too  pleasant  a  one, 
apparently. 

Her  mother  intervened  quietly.  "We  '11  never 
speak  of  'last  times,'  Gilly,  or  where  would  any 
of  us  be?  We  '11  always  think  of  'next'  times.  I 
shall  trust  Nancy  next  time,  and  next  time  and 
next  time,  and  keep  on  trusting  till  I  can  trust 
her  forever!" 

Nancy's  face  lighted  up  with  a  passion  of  love 
and  loyalty.  She  responded  to  the  touch  of  her 
mother's  faith  as  a  harp  to  the  favoring  wind, 
but  she  said  nothing;  she  only  glowed  and 
breathed  hard  and  put  her  trembling  hand  about 
her  mother's  neck  and  under  her  chin. 

"Now  it's  time!  One  more  kiss  all  around. 
Remember  you  are  Mother  Carey's  own  chick- 
ens! There  may  be  gales  while  I  am  away,  but 
you  must  ride  over  the  crests  of  the  billows  as 
merry  as  so  many  flying  fish!  Good-by!  Good- 
by!  Oh,  my  littlest  Peter-bird,  how  can  mother 
leave  you?" 

"I  opened  the  lunch  box  to  see  what  Ellen 
gave  you,  but  I  only  broke  off  two  teenty,  weenty 
corners  of  sandwiches  and  one  little  new-moon 
bite  out  of  a  cookie,"  said  Peter,  creating  a  diver- 
sion according  to  his  wont. 

Ellen  and  Joanna  came  to  the  front  door  and 
the  children  flocked  down  the  frozen  pathway  to 

5 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


the  gate  after  their  mother,  getting  a  touch  of  her 
wherever  and  whenever  they  could  and  jumping 
up  and  down  between  whiles  to  keep  warm.  Gil- 
bert closed  the  door  of  the  carriage,  and  it  turned 
to  go  down  the  street.  One  window  was  open, 
and  there  was  a  last  glimpse  of  the  beloved  face 
framed  in  the  dark  blue  velvet  bonnet,  one  last 
wave  of  a  hand  in  a  brown  muff. 

"Oh!  she  is  so  beautiful!"  sobbed  Kathleen, 
"her  bonnet  is  just  the  color  of  her  eyes;  and 
she  was  crying!" 

"  There  never  was  anybody  like  mother!"  said 
Nancy,  leaning  on  the  gate,  shivering  with  cold 
and  emotion .  '  *  There  never  w  as ,  and  there  never 
will  be!  We  can  try  and  try,  Kathleen,  and  we 
must  try,  all  of  us;  but  mother  would  n't  have  to 
try;  mother  must  have  been  partly  born  so!" 


II 

THE  CHICKENS 

It  was  Captain  Carey's  favorite  Admiral  who 
was  responsible  for  the  phrase  by  which  mother 
and  children  had  been  known  for  some  years. 
The  Captain  (then  a  Lieutenant)  had  brought 
his  friend  home  one  Saturday  afternoon  a  little 
earlier  than  had  been  expected,  and  they  went 
to  find  the  family  in  the  garden. 

Laughter  and  the  sound  of  voices  led  them  to 
the  summer-house,  and  as  they  parted  the  sy- 
ringa  bushes  they  looked  through  them  and  sur- 
prised the  charming  group. 

A  throng  of  children  like  to  flowers  were  sown 
About  the  grass  beside,  or  climbed  her  knee. 
I  looked  who  were  that  favored  company. 

That  is  the  way  a  poet  would  have  described 
what  the  Admiral  saw,  and  if  you  want  to  see 
anything  truly  and  beautifully  you  must  gener- 
ally go  to  a  poet. 

Mrs.  Carey  held  Peter,  then  a  crowing  baby, 
in  her  lap.  Gilbert  was  tickling  Peter's  chin  with 
a  buttercup,  Nancy  was  putting  a  wreath  of 
leaves  on  her  mother's  hair,  and  Kathleen  was 

7 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


swinging  from  an  apple-tree  bough,  her  yellow 
curls  flying. 

"Might  I  inquire  what  you  think  of  that?" 
asked  the  father. 

"Well," the  Admiral  said,  "mothers  and  chil- 
dren make  a  pretty  good  picture  at  any  time,  but 
I  should  say  this  one  couldn't  be  'beat.'  Two 
for  the  Navy,  eh?  " 

"All  four  for  the  Navy,  perhaps,"  laughed  the 
young  man.  "Nancy  has  already  chosen  a  Rear- 
Admiral  and  Kathleen  a  Commodore;  they  are 
modest  little  girls!" 

"They  do  you  credit,  Peter!" 

"I  hope  I've  given  them  something,  —  I've 
tried  hard  enough,  but  they  are  mostly  the  work 
of  the  lady  in  the  chair.  Come  on  and  say  how 
d'ye  do." 

Before  many  Saturdays  the  Admiral's  lap  had 
superseded  all  other  places  as  a  gathering  ground 
for  the  little  Careys,  whom  he  called  the  stormy 
petrels. 

"  Mother  Carey,"  he  explained  to  them,  came 
from  the  Latin  mater  cara,  this  being  not  only 
his  personal  conviction,  but  one  that  had  the 
backing  of  Brewer's  "Dictionary  of  Phrase  and 
Fable." 

"The  French  call  them  Les  Oiseaux  de  Notre 
Dame.  That  means  'The  Birds  of  our  Lady/ 

8 


The  Chickens 


Kitty,  and  they  are  the  sailors'  friends.  Mother 
Carey  sends  them  to  warn  seafarers  of  approach- 
ing storms  and  bids  them  go  out  all  over  the  seas 
to  show  the  good  birds  the  way  home.  You  '11 
have  your  hands  full  if  you  're  going  to  be  Mo- 
ther Carey's  chickens." 

"I  'd  love  to  show  good  birds  the  way  home!" 
said  Gilbert. 

"Can  a  naughty  bird  show  a  good  bird  the 
way  home,  Addy?"  This  bland  question  came 
from  Nancy,  who  had  a  decided  talent  for  sar- 
casm, considering  her  years.  (Of  course  the  Ad- 
miral might  have  stopped  the  children  from  call- 
ing him  Addy,  but  they  seemed  to  do  it  because 
"Admiral"  was  difficult,  and  anyway  they  loved 
him  so  much  they  simply  had  to  take  some  lib- 
erties with  him.  Besides,  although  he  was  the 
greatest  disciplinarian  that  ever  walked  a  deck, 
he  was  so  soft  and  flexible  on  land  that  he  was 
perfectly  ridiculous  and  delightful.) 

The  day  when  the  children  were  christened 
Mother  Carey's  chickens  was  Nancy's  tenth  birth- 
day, a  time  when  the  family  was  striving  to  give 
her  her  proper  name,  having  begun  wrong  with 
her  at  the  outset.  She  was  the  first,  you  see,  and 
the  first  is  something  of  an  event,  take  it  how 
you  will. 

It  is  obvious  that  at  the  beginning  they  could 

9 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


not  address  a  tiny  thing  on  a  pillow  as  Nancy, 
because  she  was  too  young.  She  was  not  even  al- 
luded to  at  that  early  date  as  "she,"  but  always 
as  "  it,"  so  they  called  her  "baby"  and  let  it  go  at 
that.  Then  there  was  a  long  period  when  she  was 
still  too  young  to  be  called  Nancy,  and  though, 
so  far  as  age  was  concerned,  she  might  properly 
have  held  on  to  her  name  of  baby,  she  could  n't 
with  propriety,  because  there  was  Gilbert  then, 
and  he  was  baby.  Moreover,  she  gradually  be- 
came so  indescribably  quaint  and  bewitching  and 
comical  and  saucy  that  every  one  sought  diminu- 
tives for  her;  nicknames,  fond  names,  little  names, 
and  all  sorts  of  words  that  tried  to  describe  her 
charm  (and  could  n't),  so  there  was  Poppet  and 
Smiles  and  Minx  and  Rogue  and  Midget  and 
Ladybird  and  finally  Nan  and  Nannie  by  degrees, 
to  soberer  Nancy. 

"Nancy  is  ten  to-day,"  mused  the  Admiral. 
"Bless  my  soul,  how  time  flies !  You  were  a  young 
Ensign,  Carey,  and  I  well  remember  the  letter 
you  wrote  me  when  this  little  lass  came  into  har- 
bor! Just  wait  a  minute;  I  believe  the  scrap  of 
newspaper  verse  you  enclosed  has  been  in  my 
wallet  ever  since.  I  always  liked  it." 

"I  recall  writing  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Carey.  "As 
you  had  lent  me  five  hundred  dollars  to  be  mar- 
ried on,  I  thought  I  ought  to  keep  you  posted!" 

10 


The  Chickens 


"Oh,  father!  did  you  have  to  borrow  money?" 
cried  Kathleen. 

"I  did,  my  dear.  There's  no  disgrace  in  bor- 
rowing, if  you  pay  back,  and  I  did.  Your  Uncle 
Allan  was  starting  in  business,  and  I  had  just 
put  my  little  capital  in  with  his  when  I  met  your 
mother.  If  you  had  met  your  mother  would  n't 
you  have  wanted  to  marry  her?" 

"Yes!"  cried  Nancy  eagerly.  "Fifty  of  her!" 
At  which  everybody  laughed. 

"And  what  became  of  the  money  you  put  in 
Uncle  Allan's  business?"  asked  Gilbert  with  un- 
expected intelligence. 

There  was  a  moment's  embarrassment  and 
an  exchange  of  glances  between  mother  and 
father  before  he  replied,  "Oh!  that 's  coming 
back  multiplied  six  times  over,  one  of  these 
days,  —  Allan  has  a  very  promising  project  on 
hand  just  now,  Admiral." 

"Glad  to  hear  it!  A  delightful  fellow,  and 
straight  as  a  die.  I  only  wish  he  could  perform 
once  in  a  while,  instead  of  promising." 

"He  will  if  only  he  keeps  his  health,  but  he's 
heavily  handicapped  there,  poor  chap.  Well, 
what's  the  verse?" 

The  Admiral  put  on  his  glasses,  prettily  as- 
sisted by  Kathleen,  who  was  on  his  knee  and 
seized  the  opportunity  to  give  him  a  French  kiss 

11 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


when  the  spectacles  were  safely  on  the  bridge  of 
his  nose.   Whereupon  he  read: — 

"There  came  to  port  last  Sunday  night 
The  queerest  little  craft, 
Without  an  inch  of  rigging  on; 

I  looked,  and  looked,  and  laughed. 

It  seemed  so  curious  that  she 

Should  cross  the  unknown  water, 
And  moor  herself  within  my  room  — 

My  daughter,  O  my  daughter! 

Yet.  by  these  presents,  witness  all, 

She  's  welcome  fifty  times, 
And  comes  consigned  to  Hope  and  Love 

And  common  metre  rhymes. 

She  has  no  manifest  but  this; 

No  flag  floats  o'er  the  water; 
She  's  rather  new  for  British  Lloyd's  — 

My  daughter,  O  my  daughter! 

Ring  out,  wild  bells  —  and  tame  ones,  too; 

Ring  out  the  lover's  moon, 
Ring  in  the  little  worsted  socks, 

Ring  in  the  bib  and  spoon."1 

"Oh,  Peter,  how  pretty!"  said  Mother  Carey 
all  in  a  glow.    "You  never  showed  it  to  me!" 

"You  were  too  much  occupied  with  the  afore- 
said 'queer  little  craft,'  wasn't  she,  Nan  —  I 

1  George  W.  Cable. 
12 


The  Chickens 


mean  Nancy!"  and  her  father  pinched  her  ear 
and  pulled  a  curly  lock. 

Nancy  was  a  lovely  creature  to  the  eye,  and 
she  came  by  her  good  looks  naturally  enough. 
For  three  generations  her  father's  family  had 
been  known  as  the  handsome  Careys,  and  when 
Lieutenant  Carey  chose  Margaret  Gilbert  for  his 
wife,  he  was  lucky  enough  to  win  the  loveliest 
girl  in  her  circle. 

Thus  it  was  still  the  handsome  Careys  in  the 
time  of  our  story,  for  all  the  children  were  well- 
favored  and  the  general  public  could  never  de- 
cide whether  Nancy  or  Kathleen  was  the  belle 
of  the  family.  Kathleen  had  fair  curls,  skin  like 
a  rose,  and  delicate  features;  not  a  blemish  to 
mar  her  exquisite  prettiness!  All  colors  became 
her;  all  hats  suited  her  hair.  She  was  the  Carey 
beauty  so  long  as  Nan^y  remained  out  of  sight, 
but  the  moment  that  young  person  appeared 
Kathleen  left  something  to  be  desired.  Nancy 
piqued;  Nancy  sparkled;  Nancy  glowed;  Nancy 
occasionally  pouted  and  not  infrequently  blazed. 
Nancy's  eyes  had  to  be  continually  searched 
for  news,  both  of  herself  and  of  the  immediate 
world  about  her.  If  you  did  not  keep  looking 
at  her  every  "once  in  so  often"  you  couldn't 
keep  up  with  the  progress  of  events;  she  might 
flash   a  dozen  telegrams  to  somebody,   about 

13 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


something,  while  your  head  was  turned  away.l 
Kathleen  could  be  safely  left  unwatched  for  an 
hour  or  so  without  fear  of  change;  her  moods 
were  less  variable,  her  temper  evener;  her  inter- 
est in  the  passing  moment  less  keen,  her  absorp- 
tion in  the  particular  subject  less  intense.  Walt 
Whitman  might  have  been  thinking  of  Nancy 
when  he  wrote: — 

There  was  a  child  went  forth  every  day 
And  the  first  object  he  looked  upon,  that  object  he  became, 
And  that  object  became  part  of  him  for  the  day,  or  a  certain  part 

of  the  day 
Or  for  many  years,  or  stretching  cycles  of  years. 

Kathleen's  nature  needed  to  be  stirred,  Nancy's 
to  be  controlled,  the  impulse  coming  from  within, 
the  only  way  that  counts  in  the  end,  though  the 
guiding  force  may  be  applied  from  without. 

Nancy  was  more  impulsive  than  industrious, 
more  generous  than  wise,  more  plucky  than  pru- 
dent; she  had  none  too  much  perseverance  and 
no  patience  at  all. 

Gilbert  was  a  fiery  youth  of  twelve,  all  for  ad- 
venture. He  kindled  quickly,  but  did  not  burn 
long,  so  deeds  of  daring  would  be  in  his  line; 
instantaneous  ones,  quickly  settled,  leaving  the 
victor  with  a  swelling  chest  and  a  feather  in  cap; 
rather  an  obvious  feather  suited  Gilbert  best. 

Peter?  Oh!  Peter,  aged  four,  can  be  dismissed 

14 


The  Chickens 


in  very  few  words  as  a  consummate  charmer  and 
heart-breaker.  The  usual  elements  that  go  to  the 
making  of  a  small  boy  were  all  there,  but  mixed 
with  white  magic.  It  is  painful  to  think  of  the 
dozens  of  girl  babies  in  long  clothes  who  must 
have  been  feeling  premonitory  pangs  when  Peter 
was  four,  to  think  they  could  n't  all  marry  him 
when  they  grew  up! 


HI 

THE  COMMON  DENOMINATOR 

Three  weeks  had  gone  by  since  Mother  Carey's 
departure  for  Fortress  Monroe,  and  the  children 
had  mounted  from  one  moral  triumph  to  an- 
other. John  Bunyan,  looking  in  at  the  windows, 
might  have  exclaimed:  — 

Who  would  true  valor  see 
Let  him  come  hither. 

It  is  easy  to  go  wrong  in  a  wicked  world,  but 
there  are  certain  circumstances  under  which  one 
is  pledged  to  virtue;  when,  like  a  knight  of  the 
olden  time,  you  wear  your  motto  next  your  heart 
and  fight  for  it,  —  "Death  rather  than  defeat!" 
"We  are  able  because  we  think  we  are  able!5* 
"  Follow  honor ! "  and  the  like.  These  sentiments 
look  beautifully  as  class  mottoes  on  summer 
graduation  programmes,  but  some  of  them,  ap- 
parently, disappear  from  circulation  before  cold 
weather  sets  in. 

It  is  difficult  to  do  right,  we  repeat,  but  not 
when  mother  is  away  from  us  for  the  first  time 
since  we  were  born;  not  when  she  who  is  the  very 
sun  of  home  is  shining  elsewhere,  and  we  are 

16 


The  Common  Denominator 


groping  in  the  dim  light  without  her,  only  re- 
membering her  last  words  and  our  last  promises. 
Not  difficult  when  we  think  of  the  eyes  the  color 
of  the  blue  velvet  bonnet,  and  the  tears  falling 
from  them.  They  are  hundreds  of  miles  away, 
but  we  see  them  looking  at  us  a  dozen  times  a 
day  and  the  last  thing  at  night. 

Not  difficult  when  we  think  of  father;  gay, gal- 
lant father,  desperately  ill  and  mother  nursing 
him;  father,  with  the  kind  smile  and  the  jolly 
little  sparkles  of  fun  in  his  eyes;  father,  tall  and 
broad-shouldered,  splendid  as  the  gods,  in  full 
uniform;  father,  so  brave  that  if  a  naval  battle 
ever  did  come  his  way,  he  would  demolish  the 
foe  in  an  instant;  father,  with  a  warm  strong 
hand  clasping  ours  on  high  days  and  holidays, 
taking  us  on  great  expeditions  where  we  see  life 
at  its  best  and  taste  incredible  joys. 

The  most  quarrelsome  family,  if  the  house 
burns  down  over  their  heads,  will  stop  disputing 
until  the  emergency  is  over  and  they  get  under 
a  new  roof.  Somehow,  in  times  of  great  trial, 
calamity,  sorrow,  the  differences  that  separate 
people  are  forgotten.  Is  n't  it  rather  like  the 
process  in  mathematics  where  we  reduce  frac- 
tions to  a  common  denominator? 

It  was  no  time  for  anything  but  superior  be- 
havior in  the  Carey  household;  that  was  dis- 

17 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


tinctly  felt  from  kitchen  to  nursery.  Ellen  the 
cook  was  tidier,  Joanna  the  second  maid  more 
amiable.  Nancy,  who  was  "responsible,"  rose 
earlier  than  the  rest  and  went  to  bed  later,  after 
locking  doors  and  windows  that  had  been  left  un- 
locked since  the  flood.  "I  am  responsible,"  she 
said  three  or  four  times  each  day,  to  herself,  and, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  to  others!  Her  heavenly  pa- 
tience in  dressing  Peter  every  few  hours  without 
comment  struck  the  most  callous  observer  as 
admirable.  Peter  never  remembered  that  he  had 
any  clothes  on.  He  might  have  been  a  real  stormy 
petrel,  breasting  the  billows  in  his  birthday  suit 
and  expecting  his  feathers  to  be  dried  when  and 
how  the  Lord  pleased.  He  comported  himself  in 
the  presence  of  dust,  mud,  water,  liquid  refresh- 
ment, and  sticky  substances,  exactly  as  if  clean 
white  sailor  suits  grew  on  every  bush  and  could 
be  renewed  at  pleasure. 

Even  Gilbert  was  moved  to  spontaneous  ad- 
miration and  respect  at  the  sight  of  Nancy's  zeal. 
"Nobody  would  know  you,  Nancy;  it  is  simply 
wonderful,  and  I  only  wish  it  could  last,"  he  said. 
Even  this  style  of  encomium  was  received  sweetly, 
though  there  had  been  moments  in  her  previous 
history  when  Nancy  would  have  retorted  in  a 
very  pointed  manner.  When  she  was  "respon- 
sible," not  even  had  he  gone  the  length  of  calling 

18 


The  Common  Denominator 


Nancy  an  unspeakable  pig,  would  she  have  said 
anything.  She  had  a  blissful  consciousness  that, 
had  she  been  examined,  indications  of  angelic 
wings,  and  not  bristles,  would  have  been  discov- 
ered under  her  blouse. 

Gilbert,  by  the  way,  never  suspected  that  the 
masters  in  his  own  school  wondered  whether  he 
had  experienced  religion  or  was  working  on  some 
sort  of  boyish  wager.  He  took  his  two  weekly  re- 
ports home  cautiously  for  fear  that  they  might 
break  on  the  way,  pasted  them  on  large  pieces  of 
paper,  and  framed  them  in  elaborate  red,  white, 
and  blue  stars  united  by  strips  of  gold  paper. 
How  Captain  and  Mrs.  Carey  laughed  and  cried 
over  this  characteristic  message  when  it  reached 
them!  "Oh!  they  are  darlings,"  Mother  Carey 
cried.  "Of  course  they  are,"  the  Captain  mur- 
mured feebly.  "Why  shouldn't  they  be,  con- 
sidering you?" 

"It  is  really  just  as  easy  to  do  right  as  wrong, 
Kathleen,"  said  Nancy  when  the  girls  were  go- 
ing to  bed  one  night. 

"  Ye-es ! "  assented  Kathleen  with  some  reserv- 
ations in  her  tone,  for  she  was  more  judicial  and 
logical  than  her  sister.  "But  you  have  to  keep 
your  mind  on  it  so,  and  never  relax  a  single  bit ! 
Then  it 's  lots  easier  for  a  few  weeks  than  it  is  for 
long  stretches!" 

19 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"That 's  true,"  agreed  Nancy;  "it  would  be 
hard  to  keep  it  up  forever.  And  you  have  to 
love  somebody  or  something  like  fury  every  min- 
ute or  you  can't  do  it  at  all.  How  do  the  people 
manage  that  can't  love  like  that,  or  haven't  any- 
body to  love?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Kathleen  sleepily.  "I'm 
so  worn  out  with  being  good,  that  every  night  I 
just  say  my  prayers  and  tumble  into  bed  ex- 
hausted. Last  night  I  fell  asleep  praying,  I  hon- 
estly did!" 

"Tell  that  to  the  marines!"  remarked  Nancy 
incredulously. 


IV 

THE  BROKEN  CIRCLE 

The  three  weeks  were  running  into  a  month  now, 
and  virtue  still  reigned  in  the  Carey  household. 
But  things  were  different.  Everybody  but  Peter 
saw  the  difference.  Peter  dwelt  from  morn  till 
eve  in  that  Land  of  Pure  Delight  which  is  igno- 
rance of  death.  The  children  no  longer  bounded 
to  meet  the  postman,  but  waited  till  Joanna 
brought  in  the  mail.  Steadily,  daily,  the  letters 
changed  in  tone.  First  they  tried  to  be  cheerful; 
later  on  they  spoke  of  trusting  that  the  worst  was 
past;  then  of  hoping  that  father  was  holding  his 
own.  "  Oh !  if  he  was  holding  all  his  own,"  sobbed 
Nancy.  "If  we  were  only  there  with  him,  help- 
ing mother!" 

Ellen  said  to  Joanna  one  morning  in  the 
kitchen:  "It's  my  belief  the  Captain's  not  going 
to  get  well,  and  I  'd  like  to  go  to  Newbury  port 
to  see  my  cousin  and  not  be  in  the  house  when 
the  children  's  told ! "  And  Joanna  said,  "Shame 
on  you  not  to  stand  by  'em  in  their  hour  of  trou- 
ble!" At  which  Ellen  quailed  and  confessed  her- 
self a  coward. 

Finally  came  a  day  never  to  be  forgotten;  a 
21 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


day  that  swept  all  the  former  days  clean  out  of 
memory,  as  a  great  wave  engulfs  all  the  little 
ones  in  its  path;  a  day  when,  Uncle  Allan  being 
too  ill  to  travel,  Cousin  Ann,  of  all  people  in  the 
universe,  —  Cousin  Ann  came  to  bring  the  terri- 
ble news  that  Captain  Carey  was  dead. 

Never  think  that  Cousin  Ann  did  not  suffer 
and  sympathize  and  do  her  rocky  best  to  com- 
fort; she  did  indeed,  but  she  was  thankful  that 
her  task  was  of  brief  duration.  Mrs.  Carey  knew 
how  it  would  be,  and  had  planned  all  so  that  she 
herself  could  arrive  not  long  after  the  blow  had 
fallen.  Peter,  by  his  mother's  orders  (she  had 
thought  of  everything)  was  at  a  neighbor's  house, 
the  centre  of  all  interest,  the  focus  of  all  gayety. 
He  was  too  young  to  see  the  tears  of  his  elders 
with  any  profit;  baby  plants  grow  best  in  sun- 
shine. The  others  were  huddled  together  in  a 
sad  group  at  the  front  window,  eyes  swollen, 
handkerchiefs  rolled  into  drenched,  pathetic  lit- 
tle wads. 

Cousin  Ann  came  in  from  the  dining  room 
with  a  tumbler  and  spoon  in  her  hand.  "See 
here,  children!"  she  said  bracingly,  "you've 
been  crying  for  the  last  twelve  hours  without 
stopping,  and  I  don't  blame  you  a  mite.  If  I  was 
the  crying  kind  I  'd  do  the  same  thing.  Now  do 
you  think  you  've  got  grit  enough  —  all  three  of 

22 


The  Broken  Circle 


you — to  bear  up  for  your  mother's  sake,  when 
she  first  comes  in?  I  've  mixed  you  each  a 
good  dose  of  aromatic  spirits  of  ammonia,  and 
it 's  splendid  for  the  nerves.  f  Your  mother 
must  get  a  night's  sleep  somehow,  and  when  she 
gets  back  a  little  of  her  strength  you  '11  be  the 
greatest  comfort  she  has  in  the  world.  The  way 
you  're  carrying  on  now  you  '11  be  the  death  of 
her!" 

It  was  a  good  idea,  and  the  dose  had  courage 
in  it.  Gilbert  took  the  first  sip,  Kathleen  the  sec- 
ond, and  Nancy  the  third,  and  hardly  had  the 
last  swallow  disappeared  down  the  poor  aching 
throats  before  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  gate. 
Some  one  got  out  and  handed  out  Mrs.  Carey, 
whose  step  used  to  be  lighter  than  Nancy's.  A 
strange  gentleman,  oh !  not  a  stranger,  it  was  the 
dear  Admiral  helping  mother  up  the  path.  They 
had  been  unconsciously  expecting  the  brown  muff 
and  blue  velvet  bonnet,  but  these  had  vanished, 
like  father,  and  all  the  beautiful  things  of  the 
past  years,  and  in  their  place  was  black  raiment 
that  chilled  their  hearts.  But  the  black  figure 
had  flung  back  the  veil  that  hid  her  from  the 
longing  eyes  of  the  children,  and  when  she  raised 
her  face  it  was  full  of  the  old  love.  She  was  grief- 
stricken  and  she  was  pale,  but  she  was  mother, 
and  the  three  young  things  tore  open  the  door 

23 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


and  clasped  her  in  their  arms,  sobbing,  choking, 
whispering  all  sorts  of  tender  comfort,  their  child- 
ish tears  falling  like  healing  dew  on  her  poor  heart. 
The  Admiral  soothed  and  quieted  them  each  in 
turn,  all  but  Nancy.  Cousin  Ann's  medicine  was 
of  no  avail,  and  strangling  with  sobs  Nancy  fled 
to  the  attic  until  she  was  strong  enough  to  say 
"for  mother's  sake"  without  a  quiver  in  her 
voice.  Then  she  crept  down,  and  as  she  passed 
her  mother's  room  on  tiptoe  she  looked  in  and 
saw  that  the  chair  by  the  window,  the  chair  that 
had  been  vacant  for  a  month,  was  filled,  and  that 
the  black-clad  figure  was  what  was  left  to  them; 
a  strange,  sad,  quiet  mother,  who  had  lost  part  of 
herself  somewhere,  —  the  gay  part,  the  cheerful 
part,  the  part  that  made  her  so  piquantly  and  en- 
trancingly  different  from  other  women.  Nancy 
stole  in  softly  and  put  her  young  smooth  cheek 
against  her  mother's,  quietly  stroking  her  hair. 
"There  are  four  of  us  to  love  you  and  take  care 
of  you,"  she  said.  "It  is  n't  quite  so  bad  as  if 
there  was  nobody!" 

Mrs.  Carey  clasped  her  close.  "  Oh !  my  Nancy ! 
my  first,  my  oldest,  God  will  help  me,  I  know 
that,  but  just  now  I  need  somebody  close  and 
warm  and  soft;  somebody  with  arms  to  hold  and 
breath  to  speak  and  lips  to  kiss!  I  ought  not  to 
sadden  you,  nor  lean  on  you,  you  are  too  young, 

24 


The  Broken  Circle 


■ —  but  I  must  a  little,  just  at  the  first.  You  see, 
dear,  you  come  next  to  father!" 

"Next  to  father!"  Nancy's  life  was  set  to  a 
new  tune  from  that  moment.  Here  was  her  spur, 
her  creed;  the  incentive,  the  inspiration  she  had 
lacked.  She  did  not  suddenly  grow  older  than 
her  years,  but  simply,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
came  to  a  realization  of  herself,  her  opportu- 
nity, her  privilege,  her  duty;  the  face  of  life  had 
changed,  and  Nancy  changed  with  it. 

"Do  you  love  me  next  to  mother?"  the  Ad- 
miral had  asked  coaxingly  once  when  Nancy 
was  eight  and  on  his  lap  as  usual. 

"Oh  dear  no!"  said  Nancy  thoughtfully,  shak- 
ing her  head. 

"Why,  that 's  rather  a  blow  to  me,"  the  Ad- 
miral exclaimed,  pinching  an  ear  and  pulling  a 
curl.  "I  flattered  myself  that  when  I  was  on  my 
best  behavior  I  came  next  to  mother." 

"It 's  this  way,  Addy  dear,"  said  Nancy,  cud- 
dling up  to  his  waistcoat  and  giving  a  sigh  of  de- 
light that  there  were  so  many  nice  people  in  the 
world.  "It 's  just  this  way.  First  there  's  mo- 
ther, and  then  all  round  mother  there  's  a  wide, 
wide  space;  and  then  father  and  you  come  next 
the  space." 

The  Admiral  smiled;  a  grave,  lovely  smile  that 
often  crept  into  his  eyes  when  he  held  Mother 

25 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Carey's  chickens  on  his  knee.  He  kissed  Nancy 
on  the  little  white  spot  behind  the  ear  where  the 
brown  hair  curled  in  tiny  rings  like  grape  ten- 
drils, soft  as  silk  and  delicate  as  pencil  strokes. 
He  said  nothing,  but  his  boyish  dreams  were  in 
the  kiss,  and  certain  hopes  of  manhood  that  had 
never  been  realized.  He  was  thinking  that  Mar- 
garet Gilbert  was  a  fortunate  and  happy  woman 
to  have  become  Mother  Carey;  such  a  mother, 
too,  that  all  about  her  was  a  wide,  wide  space, 
and  next  the  space,  the  rest  of  the  world,  nearer 
or  farther  according  to  their  merits.  He  won- 
dered if  motherhood  ought  not  to  be  like  that, 
and  he  thought  if  it  were  it  would  be  a  great  help 
to  God. 


HOW  ABOUT  JULIA? 

We  often  speak  of  a  family  circle,  but  there  are 
none  too  many  of  them.  Parallel  lines  never 
meeting,  squares,  triangles,  oblongs,  and  particu- 
larly those  oblongs  pulled  askew,  known  as  rhom- 
boids, these  and  other  geometrical  figures  abound, 
but  circles  are  comparatively  few.  In  a  true  fam- 
ily circle  a  father  and  a  mother  first  clasp  each 
other's  hands,  liking  well  to  be  thus  clasped; 
then  they  stretch  out  a  hand  on  either  side,  and 
these  are  speedily  grasped  by  children,  who  hold 
one  another  firmly,  and  complete  the  ring.  One 
child  is  better  than  nothing,  a  great  deal  better 
than  nothing;  it  is  at  least  an  effort  in  the  right 
direction,  but  the  circle  that  ensues  is  not,  even 
then,  a  truly  nice  shape.  You  can  stand  as  hand- 
somely as  ever  you  like,  but  it  simply  won't 
"come  round."  The  minute  that  two,  three, 
four,  five,  join  in,  the  "roundness  "  grows,  and  the 
merriment  too,  and  the  laughter,  and  the  power 
to  do  things.  (Responsibility  and  care  also,  but 
wThat  is  the  use  of  discouraging  circles  when  there 
are  not  enough  of  them  anyway?) 
The  Carey  family  circle  had  been  round  and 
27 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


complete,  with  love  and  harmony  between  all  its 
component  parts.  In  family  rhomboids,  for  in- 
stance, mother  loves  the  children  and  father  does 
not,  or  father  does,  but  does  not  love  mother, 
or  father  and  mother  love  each  other  and  the 
children  do  not  get  their  share;  it  is  impossible  to 
enumerate  all  the  little  geometrical  peculiarities 
which  keep  a  rhomboid  from  being  a  circle,  but 
one  person  can  just  "  stand  out"  enough  to  spoil 
the  shape,  or  put  hands  behind  back  and  refuse 
to  join  at  all.  About  the  ugliest  thing  in  the  uni- 
verse is  that  non-joining  habit!  You  would  think 
that  anybody,  however  dull,  might  consider  his 
hands,  and  guess  by  the  look  of  them  that  they 
must  be  made  to  work,  and  help,  and  take  hold 
of  somebody  else's  hands!  Miserable,  useless, 
flabby  paws,  those  of  the  non-joiner;  that  he 
feeds  and  dresses  himself  with,  and  then  hangs 
to  his  selfish  sides,  or  puts  behind  his  beastly 
back! 

When  Captain  Carey  went  on  his  long  journey 
into  the  unknown  and  uncharted  land,  the  rest 
of  the  Careys  tried  in  vain  for  a  few  months  to  be 
still  a  family,  and  did  not  succeed  at  all.  They 
clung  as  closely  to  one  another  as  ever  they 
could,  but  there  was  always  a  gap  in  the  circle 
where  father  had  been.  Some  men,  silent,  unre- 
sponsive, absent-minded  and  especially  absorbed 

28 


How  about  Julia? 


in  business,  might  drop  out  and  not  be  missed, 
but  Captain  Carey  was  full  of  vitality,  warmth, 
and  high  spirits.  It  is  strange  so  many  men  think 
that  the  possession  of  a  child  makes  them  a  father ; 
it  does  not;  but  it  is  a  curious  and  very  gene- 
ral misapprehension.  Captain  Carey  was  a  boy 
with  his  boys,  and  a  gallant  lover  with  his  girls ; 
to  his  wife  —  oh !  we  will  not  even  touch  upon 
that  ground;  she  never  did,  to  any  one  or  any- 
thing but  her  own  heart !  Such  an  one  could  never 
disappear  from  memory,  such  a  loss  could  never 
be  made  wholly  good.  The  only  thing  to  do  was 
to  remember  father's  pride  and  justify  it,  to  re- 
call his  care  for  mother  and  take  his  place  so  far 
as  might  be;  the  only  thing  for  all,  as  the  months 
went  on,  was  to  be  what  mother  called  the  three 
b's,  —  brave,  bright,  and  busy. 

To  be  the  last  was  by  far  the  easiest,  for  the 
earliest  effort  at  economy  had  been  the  reluc- 
tant dismissal  of  Joanna,  the  chambermaid.  In 
old-fashioned  novels  the  devoted  servant  always 
insisted  on  remaining  without  wages,  but  this 
story  concerns  itself  with  life  at  a  later  date. 
Joanna  wept  at  the  thought  of  leaving,  but  she 
never  thought  of  the  romantic  and  illogical  ex- 
pedient of  staying  on  without  compensation. 

Captain  Carey's  salary  had  been  five  thou- 
sand dollars,  or  rather  was  to  have  been,  for  he 

29 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


had  only  attained  his  promotion  three  months 
before  his  death.  There  would  have  been  an  extra 
five  hundred  dollars  a  year  when  he  was  at  sea, 
and  on  the  strength  of  this  addition  to  their  for- 
mer income  he  intended  to  increase  the  amount 
of  his  life  insurance,  but  it  had  not  yet  been  done 
when  the  sudden  illness  seized  him,  an  illness  that 
began  so  gently  and  innocently  and  tern  nated 
with  such  sudden  and  unexpected  fatality. 

The  life  insurance,  such  as  it  was,  must  be  put 
into  the  bank  for  emergencies.  Mrs.  Carey  real- 
ized that  that  was  the  only  proper  thing  to  do 
when  there  were  four  children  under  fifteen  to  be 
considered.  The  pressing  question,  however,  was 
how  to  keep  it  in  the  bank,  and  subsist  on  a  cap- 
tain's pension  of  thirty  dollars  a  month.  There 
was  the  ten  thousand,  hers  and  the  Captain's,  in 
Allan  Carey's  business,  but  Allan  was  seriously 
ill  with  nervous  prostration,  and  no  money  put 
into  his  business  ever  had  come  out,  even  in  a 
modified  fbrm.  The  Admiral  was  at  the  other 
end  of  the  world,  and  .even  had  he  been  near  at 
hand  Mrs.  Carey  would  never  have  confided  the 
family  difficulties  to  him.  She  could  hardly  have 
allowed  him  even  to  tide  her  over  her  immediate 
pressing  anxieties,  remembering  his  invalid  sis- 
ter and  his  many  responsibilities.  No,  the  years 
until  Gilbert  was  able  to  help,  or  Nancy  old 

30 


How  about  Julia? 


enough  to  use  her  talents,  or  the  years  before  the 
money  invested  with  Allan  would  bring  divi- 
dends, those  must  be  years  of  self-sacrifice  on 
everybody's  part;  and  more  even  than  that,  they 
must  be  fruitful  years,  in  which  not  mere  saving 
and  economizing,  but  earning,  would  be  neces- 
sary. 

It  was  only  lately  that  Mrs.  Carey  had  talked 
over  matters  with  the  three  eldest  children,  but 
the  present  house  was  too  expensive  to  be  longer 
possible  as  a  home,  and  the  question  of  moving 
was  a  matter  of  general  concern.  Joanna  had 
been,  up  to  the  present  moment,  the  only  eco- 
nomy, but  alas!  Joanna  was  but  a  drop  in  the 
necessary  bucket. 

On  a  certain  morning  in  March  Mrs.  Carey  sat 
in  her  room  with  a  letter  in  her  lap,  the  chil- 
dren surrounding  her.  It  was  from  Mr.  Manson, 
Allan  Carey's  younger  partner;  the  sort  of  letter 
that  dazed  her,  opening  up  as  it  did  so  many 
questions  of  expediency,  duty,  and  responsibility. 
The  gist  of  it  was  this :  that  Allan  Carey  was  a 
broken  man  in  mind  and  body;  that  both  for 
the  climate  and  for  treatment  he  was  to  be  sent 
to  a  rest  cure  in  the  Adirondacks;  that  some- 
time or  other,  in  Mr.  Manson's  opinion,  the 
firm's  investments  might  be  profitable  if  kept 
long  enough,  and  there  was  no  difficulty  in  keep- 

31 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ing  them,  for  nobody  in  the  universe  wanted 
them  at  the  present  moment;  that  Allan's  little 
daughter  Julia  had  no  source  of  income  what- 
ever after  her  father's  monthly  bills  were  paid, 
and  that  her  only  relative  outside  of  the  Careys, 
a  certain  Miss  Ann  Chadwick,  had  refused  to 
admit  her  into  her  house.  "  Mr.  Carey  only  asked 
Miss  Chadwick  as  a  last  resort,"  wrote  Mr.  Man- 
son,  "for  his  very  soul  quailed  at  the  thought  of 
letting  you,  his  brother's  widow,  suffer  any  more 
by  his  losses  than  was  necessary,  and  he  studi- 
ously refused  to  let  you  know  the  nature  and  ex- 
tent of  his  need.  Miss  Chad  wick's  only  response 
to  his  request  was,  that  she  believed  in  every  tub 
standing  on  its  own  bottom,  and  if  he  had  har- 
bored the  same  convictions  he  would  not  have 
been  in  his  present  extremity.  I  am  telling  you 
this,  my  dear  Mrs.  Carey,"  the  writer  went  on, 
"just  to  get  your  advice  about  the  child.  I  well 
know  that  your  income  will  not  support  your 
own  children;  what  therefore  shall  we  do  with 
Julia?  I  am  a  poor  young  bachelor,  with  two  sis- 
ters to  support.  I  shall  find  a  position,  of  course, 
and  I  shall  never  cease  nursing  Carey's  various 
affairs  and  projects  during  the  time  of  his  exile, 
but  I  cannot  assume  an  ounce  more  of  financial 
responsibility." 

There  had  been  quite  a  council  over  the  letter, 

32 


How  about  Julia? 


and  parts  of  it  had  been  read  more  than  once  by 
Mrs.  Carey,  but  the  children,  though  very  sym- 
pathetic with  Uncle  Allan  and  loud  in  their  ex- 
clamations of  "Poor  Julia!"  had  not  suggested 
any  remedy  for  the  situation. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Carey,  folding  the  letter, 
"there  seems  to  be  but  one  thing  for  us  to  do." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  are  going  to  have 
Julia  come  and  live  with  us,  —  be  one  of  the 
family?"  exclaimed  Gilbert. 

"That  is  what  I  want  to  discuss,"  she  replied. 
"You  three  are  the  family  as  well  as  I.  —  Come 
in ! "  she  called,  for  she  heard  the  swift  feet  of  the 
youngest  petrel  ascending  the  stairs.  "  Come  in ! 
Where  is  there  a  sweeter  Peter,  a  fleeter  Peter, 
a  neater  Peter,  than  ours,  I  should  like  to  know, 
and  where  a  better  adviser  for  the  council?" 

"Neater,  mother!  How  can  you?"  inquired 
Kathleen. 

"I  meant  neater  when  he  is  just  washed  and 
dressed,"  retorted  Peter's  mother.  "Are  you 
coming  to  the  family  council,  sweet  Pete?  " 

Peter  climbed  on  his  mother's  knee  and  an- 
swered by  a  vague  affirmative  nod,  his  whole 
mind  being  on  the  extraction  of  a  slippery  marble 
from  a  long-necked  bottle. 

"Then  be  quiet,  and  speak  only  when  we  ask 
your  advice,"  continued  Mrs.  Carey.    "Unless  I 

33 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


were  obliged  to,  children,  I  should  be  sorry  to  go 
against  all  your  wishes.  I  might  be  willing  to 
bear  my  share  of  a  burden,  but  more  is  needed 
than  that." 

"I  think,"  said  Nancy  suddenly,  aware  now  of 
the  trend  of  her  mother's  secret  convictions,  "I 
think  Julia  is  a  smug,  conceited,  vain,  affected 
little  pea — "  Here  she  caught  her  mother's  eye 
and  suddenly  she  heard  inside  of  her  head  or 
heart  or  conscience  a  chime  of  words,  "Next  to 
father!"  Making  a  magnificent  oratorical  leap 
she  finished  her  sentence  with  only  a  second's 
break,  —  "peacock,  but  if  mother  thinks  Julia 
is  a  duty,  a  duty  she  is,  and  we  must  brace  up  and 
do  her.  Must  we  love  her,  mother,  or  can  we  just 
be  good  and  polite  to  her,  giving  her  the  breast 
and  taking  the  drumstick?  She  won't  ever  say, 
6  Don't  let  me  rob  you! '  like  Cousin  Ann,  when  she 
takes  the  breast!" 

Kathleen  looked  distinctly  unresigned.  She 
hated  drumsticks  and  all  that  they  stood  for  in 
life.  She  disliked  the  wall  side  of  the  bed,  the 
middle  seat  in  the  carriage,  the  heel  of  the  loaf, 
the  underdone  biscuit,  the  tail  part  of  the  fish,  the 
scorched  end  of  the  omelet.  "It  will  make  more 
difference  to  me  than  anybody,"  she  said  gloomily. 

"Everything  makes  more  difference  to  you, 
Kitty,"  remarked  Gilbert. 

34 


How  about  Julia? 


"I  mean  I  'm  always  fourth  when  the  cake 
plate  's  passed,  —  in  everything!  Now  Julia  '11 
be  fourth,  and  I  shall  be  fifth;  it's  lucky  people 
can't  tumble  off  the  floor!" 

"Poor  abused  Kathleen!"  cried  Gilbert.  "Well, 
mother,  you  're  always  right,  but  I  can't  see  why 
you  take  another  one  into  the  family,  when  we ' ve 
been  saying  for  a  week  there  isn't  even  enough 
for  us  five  to  live  on.  It  looks  mighty  queer  to 
put  me  in  the  public  school  and  spend  the  money 
you  save  that  way,  on  Julia!" 

Way  down  deep  in  her  heart  Mother  Carey 
felt  a  pang.  There  was  a  little  seed  of  hard  self- 
love  in  Gilbert  that  she  wanted  him  to  dig  up 
from  the  soil  and  get  rid  of  before  it  sprouted  and 
waxed  too  strong. 

"Julia  is  a  Carey  chicken  after  all3  Gilbert," 
she  said. 

"But  she  's  Uncle  Allan's  chicken,  and  I  'm 
Captain  Carey's  eldest  son." 

"That's  the  very  note  I  should  strike  if  I  were 
you,"  bis  mother  responded,  "only  with  a  little 
different  accent.  What  would  Captain  Carey's 
eldest  son  like  to  do  for  his  only  cousin,  a  little 
girl  younger  than  himself, — a  girl  who  had  a  very 
silly,  unwise,  unhappy  mother  for  the  first  five 
years  of  her  life,  and  who  is  now  practically 
fatherless,  for  a  time  at  least?" 

35 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Gilbert  wriggled  as  if  in  great  moral  discom- 
fort, as  indeed  he  was.  "Well,"  he  said,  "I  don't 
want  to  be  selfish,  and  if  the  girls  say  yes,  I  '11 
have  to  fall  in ;  but  it  is  n't  logic,  all  the  same,  to 
ask  a  sixth  to  share  what  is  n't  enough  for  five." 

"I  agree  with  you  there,  Gilly!"  smiled  his 
mother.  "The  only  question  before  the  council 
is,  does  logic  belong  at  the  top,  in  the  scale  of  rea- 
sons why  we  do  certain  things?  If  we  ask  Julia 
to  come,  she  will  have  to  'fall  into  line,'  as  you 
say,  and  share  the  family  misfortunes  as  best  she 
can." 

"She's  a  regular  shirk,  and  always  was."  This 
from  Kathleen. 

"She  would  never  come  at  all  if  she  guessed 
her  cousins'  opinion  of  her,  that  is  very  certain ! " 
remarked  Mrs.  Carey  pointedly. 

"Now,  mother,  look  me  in  the  eye  and  speak 
the  whole  truth,"  asked  Nancy.  "Do  you  like 
Julia  Carey?9' 

Mrs.  Carey  laughed  as  she  answered,  "Frankly 
then,  I  do  not!  But,"  she  continued,  "I  do  not 
like  several  of  the  remarks  that  have  been  made 
at  this  council,  yet  I  manage  to  bear  them." 

"Of  course  I  shan't  call  Julia  smug  and 
conceited  to  her  face,"  asserted  Nancy  encour- 
agingly. "I  hope  that  her  bosom  friend  Gladys 
Ferguson  has  disappeared  from  view.   The  last 

36 


How  about  Julia? 


time  Julia  visited  us,  Kitty  and  I  got  so  tired  of 
Gladys  Ferguson's  dresses,  her  French  maid,  her 
bedroom  furniture,  and  her  travels  abroad,  that 
we  wrote  her  name  on  a  piece  of  paper,  put  it  in 
a  box,  and  buried  it  in  the  back  yard  the  minute 
Julia  left  the  house.  When  you  write,  mother, 
tell  Julia  there  's  a  piece  of  breast  for  her,  but 
not  a  mouthful  of  my  drumstick  goes  to  Gladys 
Ferguson." 

"The  more  the  hungrier;  better  invite  Gladys 
too,"  suggested  Gilbert,  "then  we  can  say  like 
that  simple  little  kid  in  Wordsworth :  — 

"  '  Sisters  and  brother,  little  maid, 
How  many  may  you  be?' 
'How  many?  Seven  in  all,'  she  said, 
And  wondering  looked  at  me!" 

"Then  it  goes  on  thus,"  laughed  Nancy:  — 

"  *  And  who  are  they?  I  pray  you  tell.' 
She  answered,  'Seven  are  we; 
Mother  with  us  makes  five,  and  then 
There 's  Gladys  and  Julee ! ' " 

Everybody  joined  in  the  laugh  then,  including 
Peter,  who  was  especially  uproarious,  and  who 
had  an  idea  he  had  made  the  joke  himself,  else 
why  did  they  all  kiss  him? 

"  How  about  Julia?  What  do  you  say,  Peter?" 
asked  his  mother. 

"I  want  her.  She  played  horse  once,"  said 
37 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Peter.  The  opinion  that  the  earth  revolved 
around  his  one  small  person  was  natural  at  the 
age  of  four,  but  the  same  idea  of  the  ^universe 
still  existed  in  Gilbert's  mind.  A  boy  of  thirteen 
ought  perhaps  to  have  a  clearer  idea  of  the  rela- 
tive sizes  of  world  and  individual;  at  least  that 
was  the  conviction  in  Mother  Carey's  mind. 


VI 

NANCYS  IDEA 

Nancy  had  a  great  many  ideas,  first  and  last. 
They  were  generally  unique  and  interesting  at 
least,  though  it  is  to  be  feared  that  few  of  them 
were  practical.  However,  it  was  Nancy's  idea  to 
build  Peter  a  playhouse  in  the  plot  of  ground  at 
the  back  of  the  Charlestown  house,  and  it  was  she 
who  was  the  architect  and  head  carpenter.  That 
plan  had  brought  much  happiness  to  Peter  and 
much  comfort  to  the  family.  It  was  Nancy's  idea 
that  she,  Gilbert,  and  Kathleen  should  all  be  so 
equally  polite  to  Cousin  Ann  Chadwick  that  there 
should  be  no  favorite  to  receive  an  undue  share  of 
invitations  to  the  Chadwick  house.  Nancy  had 
made  two  visits  in  succession,  both  offered  in  the 
nature  of  tributes  to  her  charms  and  virtues,  and 
she  did  not  wish  a  third. 

"If  you  two  can't  be  more  attractive,  then  I'll 
be  less,  that 's  all,"  was  her  edict.  "  'Turn  and 
turn  about'  has  got  to  be  the  rule  in  this  matter. 
I  'm  not  going  to  wear  the  martyr's  crown  alone; 
it  will  adorn  your  young  brows  every  now  and 
then  or  I  '11  know  the  reason  why!" 

It  was  Nancy's  idea  to  let  Joanna  go,  and 
39 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


divide  her  work  among  the  various  members  of 
the  family.  It  was  also  Nancy's  idea  that,  there 
being  no  strictly  masculine  bit  of  martyrdom 
to  give  to  Gilbert,  he  should  polish  the  silver  for 
his  share.  This  was  an  idea  that  proved  so  un- 
popular with  Gilbert  that  it  was  speedily  relin- 
quished. Gilbert  was  wonderful  with  tools,  so 
wonderful  that  Mother  Carey  feared  he  would 
be  a  carpenter  instead  of  the  commander  of  a 
great  war  ship;  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  odd 
jobs  to  offer  him.  There  came  a  day  when  even 
Peter  realized  that  life  was  real  and  life  was  ear- 
nest. When  the  floor  was  strewn  with  playthings 
his  habit  had  been  to  stand  amid  the  wreckage 
and  smile,  whereupon  Joanna  would  fly  and  re- 
store everything  to  its  accustomed  place.  After 
the  passing  of  Joanna,  Mother  Carey  sat  placidly 
in  her  chair  in  the  nursery  and  Peter  stood  ankle 
deep  among  his  toys,  smiling. 

"Now  put  everything  where  it  belongs,  sweet 
Pete,"  said  mother. 

"You  do  it,"  smiled  Peter. 

"I  am  very  busy  darning  your  stockings, 
Peter." 

"I  don't  like  to  pick  up,  Muddy." 

"No,  it  is  n't  much  fun,  but  it  has  to  be 
done." 

Peter  went  over  to  the  window  and  gazed  at 

40 


Nancy's  Idea 


the  landscape.  "I  dess  I  '11  go  play  with  Ellen," 
he  remarked  in  honeyed  tones. 

"That  would  be  nice,  after  you  clear  away 
your  toys  and  blocks." 

"I  dess  I  '11  play  with  Ellen  first,"  suggested 
Peter,  starting  slowly  towards  the  door. 

"No,  we  always  work  first  and  play  after- 
wards!" said  mother,  going  on  darning. 

Peter  felt  caught  in  a  net  of  irresistible  and 
pitiless  logic. 

"Come  and  help  me,  Muddy?"  he  coaxed,  and 
as  she  looked  up  he  suddenly  let  fly  all  his  armory 
of  weapons  at  once,  —  two  dimples,  tossing  back 
of  curls,  parted  lips,  tiny  white  teeth,  sweet  voice. 

Mother  Carey's  impulse  was  to  cast  herself  on 
the  floor  and  request  him  simply  to  smile  on  her 
and  she  would  do  his  lightest  bidding,  but  con- 
trolling her  secret  desires  she  answered:  "I  would 
help  if  you  needed  me,  but  you  don't.  You're 
a  great  big  boy  now!" 

"I'm  not  a  great  big  boy!"  cried  Peter,  "I'm 
only  a  great  big  little  boy!" 

"Don't  waste  time,  sweet  Pete;  go  to  work!" 

"J  want  Joanna!"  roared  Peter  with  the  voice 
of  an  infant  bull. 

"So  we  all  do.  It 's  because  she  had  to  go  that 
I'm  darning  stockings."  \ 

The  net  tightened  round  Peter's  defenceless 
41 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


body  and  he  hurled  himself  against  his  rocking- 
horse  and  dragged  it  brutally  to  a  corner.  Hav- 
ing disposed  of  most  of  his  strength  and  temper 
in  this  operation,  he  put  away  the  rest  of  his  goods 
and  chattels  more  quietly,  but  with  streaming 
eyes  and  heaving  bosom. 

"Splendid!"  commented  Mother  Carey.  "Jo- 
anna could  n't  have  done  it  better,  and  it  won't 
be  half  so  much  work  next  time."  Peter  heard 
the  words  "next  time"  distinctly,  and  knew  the 
grim  face  of  Duty  at  last,  though  he  was  less 
than  five. 

The  second  and  far  more  tragic  time  was 
when  he  was  requested  to  make  himself  ready 
for  luncheon,  —  Kathleen  to  stand  near  and 
help  "a  little"  if  really  necessary.  Now  Peter  au 
fond  was  absolutely  clean.  French  phrases  are 
detestable  where  there  is  any  English  equiva- 
lent, but  in  this  case  there  is  none,  so  I  will 
explain  to  the  youngest  reader  —  who  may 
speak  only  one  language — that  the  base  of  Peter 
was  always  clean.  He  received  one  full  bath 
and  several  partial  ones  in  every  twenty-four 
hours,  but  su  -  per  -im-  posed  on  this  base  were 
evidences  of  his  eternal  activities,  and  indeed 
of  other  people's !  They  were  divided  into  three 
classes,  —  those  contracted  in  the  society  of 
Joanna  when  she  took  him  out-of-doors:  such 

42 


Nancy's  Idea 


as  sand,  water,  mud,  grass  stains,  paint,  lime, 
putty,  or  varnish;  those  derived  from  visits  to 
his  sisters  at  their  occupations:  such  as  ink, 
paints,  lead  pencils,  paste,  glue,  and  mucilage; 
those  amassed  in  his  stays  with  Ellen  in  the 
kitchen:  sugar,  molasses,  spice,  pudding  sauce, 
black  currants,  raisins,  dough,  berry  stains  (as- 
sorted, according  to  season),  chocolate,  jelly, 
jam,  and  preserves;  these  deposits  were  not 
deep,  but  were  simply  dabs  on  the  facade  of 
Peter,  and  through  them  the  eyes  and  soul 
of  him  shone,  delicious  and  radiant.  They  could 
be  rubbed  off  with  a  moist  handkerchief  if  water 
were  handy,  and  otherwise  if  it  were  not,  and 
the  person  who  rubbed  always  wanted  for  some 
mysterious  reason  to  kiss  him  immediately  after- 
wards, for  Peter  had  the  largest  kissing  acquain- 
tance in  Charlestown. 

When  Peter  had  scrubbed  the  parts  of  him 
that  showed  most,  and  had  performed  what  he 
considered  his  whole  duty  to  his  hair,  he  ap- 
peared for  the  first  time  at  the  family  table  in 
such  a  guise  that  if  the  children  had  not  been 
warned  they  would  have  gone  into  hysterics,  but 
he  gradually  grew  to  be  proud  of  his  toilets  and 
careful  that  they  should  not  occur  too  often  in 
the  same  day,  since  it  appeared  to  be  the  fam- 
ily opinion  that  he  should  make  them  himself. 

43 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


There  was  a  tacit  feeling,  not  always  ex- 
pressed, that  Nancy,  after  mother,  held  the  reins 
of  authority,  and  also  that  she  was  a  person  of 
infinite  resource.  The  Gloom-Dispeller  had  been 
her  father's  name  for  her,  but  he  had  never 
thought  of  her  as  a  Path-Finder,  a  gallant 
adventurer  into  unknown  and  untried  regions, 
because  there  had  been  small  opportunity  to 
test  her  courage  or  her  ingenuity. 

Mrs.  Carey  often  found  herself  leaning  on 
Nancy  nowadays;  not  as  a  dead  weight,  but 
with  just  the  hint  of  need,  just  the  suggestion 
of  confidence,  that  youth  and  strength  and 
buoyancy  respond  to  so  gladly.  It  had  been 
decided  that  the  house  should  be  vacated  as  soon 
as  a  tenant  could  be  found,  but  the  "  what  next" 
had  not  *  been  settled.  Julia  had  confirmed 
Nancy's  worst  fears  by  accepting  her  aunt's 
offer  of  a  home,  but  had  requested  time  to  make 
Gladys  Ferguson  a  short  visit  at  Palm  Beach, 
all  expenses  being  borne  by  the  Parents  of 
Gladys.  This  estimable  lady  and  gentleman  had 
no  other  names  or  titles  and  were  never  spoken 
of  as  if  they  had  any  separate  existence.  They 
had  lived  and  loved  and  married  and  accu- 
mulated vast  wealth,  and  borne  Gladys.  After 
that  they  had  sunk  into  the  background  and 
Gladys  had  taken  the  stage. 

44 


Nancy's  Idea 


"  I  'm  sure  I  'm  glad  she  is  going  to  the  Fer- 
gusons," exclaimed  Kathleen.  "One  month  less 
of  her!" 

"Yes,"  Nancy  replied,  "but  she'll  be  much 
worse,  more  spoiled,  more  vain,  more  luxurious 
than  before.  She'll  want  a  gold  chicken  breast 
now.  We've  just  packed  away  the  finger  bowls; 
but  out  they'll  have  to  come  again." 

"Let  her  wash  her  own  finger  bowl  a  few  days 
and  she'll  clamor  for  the  simple  life,"  said  Kath- 
leen shrewdly.  "Oh,  what  a  relief  if  the  Fer- 
gusons would  adopt  Julia,  just  to  keep  Gladys 
company ! " 

"Nobody  would  ever  adopt  Julia,"  returned 
Nancy.  "If  she  was  yours  you  could  n't  help 
it;  you'd  just  take  her  '  to  the  Lord  in  prayer,' 
as  the  Sunday-school  hymn  says,  but  you'd 
never  go  out  and  adopt  her." 

Matters  were  in  this  uncertain  and  unsettled 
state  when  Nancy  came  into  her  mother's  room 
one  evening  when  the  rest  of  the  house  was 
asleep. 

"I  saw  your  light,  so  I  knew  you  were  reading, 
Muddy.  I  've  had  such  a  bright  idea  I  could  n't 
rest." 

"Muddy"  is  not  an  attractive  name  unless 
you  happen  to  know  its  true  derivation  and  sig- 
nificance. First  there  was  "  mother  dear,"  and  as 

45 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


persons  under  fifteen  are  always  pressed  for  time 
and  uniformly  breathless,  this  appellation  was 
shortened  to  "Motherdy,"  and  Peter  being  un- 
able to  struggle  with  that  term,  had  abbrevi- 
ated it  into  "Muddy."  "Muddy"  in  itself  is 
undistinguished  and  even  unpleasant,  but  when 
accompanied  by  a  close  strangling  hug,  pats  on 
the  cheek,  and  ardent  if  somewhat  sticky  kisses, 
grows  by  degrees  to  possess  delightful  associa- 
tions. Mother  Carey  enjoyed  it  so  much  from 
Peter  that  she  even  permitted  it  to  be  taken  up 
by  the  elder  children. 

"You  mustn't  have  ideas  after  nine  P.  m., 
Nancy!"  chided  her  mother.  "Wrap  the  blue 
blanket  around  you  and  sit  down  with  me  near 
the  fire." 

"You're  not  to  say  I'm  romantic  or  unprac- 
tical," insisted  Nancy,  leaning  against  her  mo- 
ther's knees  and  looking  up  into  her  face, — 
"indeed,  you're  not  to  say  anything  of  any 
importance  till  I'm  all  finished.  I'm  going  to 
tell  it  in  a  long  story,  too,  so  as  to  work  on  your 
feelings  and  make  you  say  yes." 

"Very  well,  I'm  all  ears!" 

"Now  put  on  your  thinking  cap!  Do  you 
remember  once,  years  and  years  ago,  before 
Peter  it  was,  that  father  took  us  on  a  driving 
trip  through  some  dear  little  villages  in  Maine?" 

46 


Nancy's  Idea 


(The  Careys  never  dated  their  happenings 
eighteen  hundred  and  anything.  It  was  always: 
Just  before  Peter,  Immediately  after  Peter,  or 
A  Long  Time  after  Peter,  which  answered  all 
purposes.) 

"I  remember." 

"It  was  one  of  Gilbert's  thirsty  days,  and  we 
stopped  at  nearly  every  convenient  pump  to 
give  him  drinks  of  water,  and  at  noon  we  came 
to  the  loveliest  wayside  well  with  a  real  moss- 
covered  bucket;  do  you  remember?" 

"I  remember." 

"And  we  all  clambered  out,  and  father  said 
it  was  time  for  luncheon,  and  we  unpacked  the 
baskets  on  the  greensward  near  a  beautiful  tree, 
and  father  said,  'Don't  spread  the  table  too  near 
the  house,  dears,  or  they'll  cry  when  they  see 
our  doughnuts!'  and  Kitty,  who  had  been  run- 
ning about,  came  up  and  cried,  '  It  *s  an  empty 
house;  come  and  look!'" 

"I  remember." 

"And  we  all  went  in  the  gate  and  loved  every 
bit  of  it:  the  stone  steps,  the  hollyhocks  growing 
under  the  windows,  the  yellow  paint  and  the 
green  blinds;  and  father  looked  in  the  windows, 
and  the  rooms  were  large  and  sunny,  and  we 
wanted  to  drive  the  horse  into  the  barn  and  stay 
there  forever!" 

47 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"I  remember." 

"And  Gilbert  tore  his  trousers  climbing  on  the 
gate,  and  father  laid  him  upside  down  on  your 
lap  and  I  ran  and  got  your  work-bag  and  you 
mended  the  seat  of  his  little  trousers.  And 
father  looked  and  looked  at  the  house  and  said, 
'Bless  its  heart!'  and  said  if  he  were  rich  he 
would  buy  the  dear  thing  that  afternoon  and 
sleep  in  it  that  night;  and  asked  you  if  you 
did  n't  wish  you  'd  married  the  other  man,  and 
you  said  there  never  was  another  man,  and  you 
asked  father  if  he  thought  on  the  whole  that  he 
was  the  poorest  man  in  the  world,  and  father 
said  no,  the  very  richest,  and  he  kissed  us  all 
round,  do  you  remember?" 

"Do  I  remember?  O  Nancy,  Nancy!  What 
do  you  think  I  am  made  of  that  I  could  ever 
forget?" 

"Don't  cry,  Muddy  darling,  don't!  It  was  so 
beautiful,  and  we  have  so  many  things  like  that 
to  remember." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Carey,  "I  know  it.  Part  of 
my  tears  are  grateful  ones  that  none  of  you 
can  ever  recall  an  unloving  word  between  your 
father  and  mother!" 

"The  idea,"  said  Nancy  suddenly  and  briefly, 
"is  to  go  and  live  in  that  darling  house!" 

"Nancy!  What  for?" 
48 


Nancy's  Idea 


"We've  got  to  leave  this  place,  and  where 
could  we  live  on  less  than  in  that  tiny  village? 
It  had  a  beautiful  white-painted  academy,  don't 
you  remember,  so  we  could  go  to  school  there,  — 
Kathleen  and  I  anyway,  if  you  could  get  enough 
money  to  keep  Gilly  at  Eastover." 

"Of  course  I've  thought  of  the  country,  but 
that  far-away  spot  never  occurred  to  me.  What 
was  its  quaint  little  name,  —  Mizpah  or  Shiloh 
or  Deborah  or  something  like  that?" 

"It  was  Beulah,"  said  Nancy;  "and  father 
thought  it  exactly  matched  the  place!" 

"We  even  named  the  house,"  recalled  Mo- 
ther Carey  with  a  tearful  smile.  "There  were 
vegetables  growing  behind  it,  and  flowers  in 
front,  and  your  father  suggested  Garden  Fore- 
and-Aft  and  I  chose  Happy  Half-Acre,  but  fa- 
ther thought  the  fields  that  stretched  back  of 
the  vegetable  garden  might  belong  to  the  place, 
and  if  so  there  would  be  far  more  than  a  half- 
acre  of  land." 

"And  do  you  remember  father  said  he  wished 
we  could  do  something  to  thank  the  house  for 
our  happy  hour,  and  I  thought  of  the  little  box 
of  plants  we  had  bought  at  a  wayside  nursery?" 

"Oh!  I  do  indeed!  I  had  n't  thought  of  it  for 
years!  Father  and  you  planted  a  tiny  crimson 
rambler  at  the  corner  of  the  piazza  at  the  side." 

49 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Do  you  suppose  it  ever  'rambled,'  Muddy? 
Because  it  would  be  ever  so  high  now,  and  full 
of  roses  in  summer." 

"I  wonder!"  mused  Mother  Carey.  "Oh!  it 
was  a  sweet,  tranquil,  restful  place !  I  wonder  how 
we  could  find  out  about  it?  It  seems  impossible 
that  it  should  not  have  been  rented  or  sold  before 
this.  Let  me  see,  that  was  five  years  ago." 

"There  was  a  nice  old  gentleman  farther  down 
the  street,  quite  in  the  village,  somebody  who 
had  known  father  when  he  was  a  boy." 

"So  there  was;  he  had  a  quaint  little  law  office 
not  much  larger  than  Peter's  playhouse.  Per- 
haps we  could  find  him.  He  was  very,  very  old. 
He  may  not  be  alive,  and  I  cannot  remember  his 
name." 

"Father  called  him  'Colonel,'  I  know  that. 
Oh,  how  I  wish  dear  Addy  was  here  to  help  us!" 

"If  he  were  he  would  want  to  help  us  too 
much!  We  must  learn  to  bear  our  own  burdens. 
They  won't  seem  so  strange  and  heavy  when  we 
are  more  used  to  them.  Now  go  to  bed,  dear. 
We'll  think  of  Beulah,  you  and  I;  and  perhaps, 
as  we  have  been  all  adrift,  waiting  for  a  wind  to 
stir  our  sails,  'Nancy's  idea'  will  be  the  thing 
to  start  us  on  our  new  voyage.  Beulah  means 
land  of  promise;  —  that's  a  good  omen!" 

"And  father  found  Beulah;  and  father  found 
50 


Nancy's  Idea 


the  house,  and  father  blessed  it  and  loved  it  and 
named  it;  that  makes  ever  so  many  more  good 
omens,  more  than  enough  to  start  housekeeping 
on,"  Nancy  answered,  kissing  her  mother  good- 
night. 


VII 

"OLD  BEASTS  INTO  NEW" 

Mother  Carey  went  to  sleep  that  night  in 
greater  peace  than  she  had  felt  for  months.  It 
had  seemed  to  her,  all  these  last  sad  weeks,  as 
though  she  and  her  brood  had  been  breasting 
stormy  waters  with  no  harbor  in  sight.  There 
were  friends  in  plenty  here  and  there,  but  no 
kith  and  kin,  and  the  problems  to  be  settled 
were  graver  and  more  complex  than  ordinary 
friendship  could  untangle,  vexed  as  it  always 
was  by  its  own  problems.  She  had  but  one  keen 
desire:  to  go  to  some  quiet  place  where  tempta- 
tions for  spending  money  would  be  as  few  as 
possible,  and  there  live  for  three  or  four  years, 
putting  her  heart  and  mind  and  soul  on  fitting 
the  children  for  life.  If  she  could  keep  strength 
enough  to  guide  and  guard,  train  and  develop 
them  into  happy,  useful,  agreeable  human  be- 
ings, —  masters  of  their  own  powers;  wise  and 
discreet  enough,  when  years  of  discretion  were 
reached,  to  choose  right  paths,  —  that,  she  con- 
ceived, was  her  chief  task  in  life,  and  no  easy 
one.  "Happy  I  must  contrive  that  they  shall 
be,"  she  thought,  "for  unhappiness  and  discon- 

52 


Old  Beasts  into  New 


tent  are  among  the  foxes  that  spoil  the  vines. 
Stupid  they  shall  not  be,  while  I  can  think  of 
any  force  to  stir  their  brains ;  they  have  ordinary 
intelligence,  all  of  them,  and  they  shall  learn  to 
use  it;  dull  and  sleepy  children  I  can't  abide. 
Fairly  good  they  will  be,  if  they  are  busy  and 
happy,  and  clever  enough  to  seethe  folly  of  being 
anything  but  good!  And  so,  month  after  month, 
for  many  years  to  come,  I  must  be  helping  Nancy 
and  Kathleen  to  be  the  right  sort  of  women,  and 
wives,  and  mothers,  and  Gilbert  and  Peter  the 
proper  kind  of  men,  and  husbands,  and  fathers. 
Mother  Carey's  chickens  must  be  able  to  show 
the  good  birds  the  way  home,  as  the  Admiral 
said,  and  I  should  think  they  ought  to  be  able 
to  set  a  few  bad  birds  on  the  right  track  now  and 
then!" 

Well,  all  this  would  be  a  task  to  frighten  and 
stagger  many  a  person,  but  it  only  kindled  Mrs. 
Carey's  love  and  courage  to  a  white  heat. 

Do  you  remember  where  Kingsley's  redoubt- 
able Tom  the  Water  Baby  swims  past  Shiny 
Wall,  and  reaches  at  last  Peacepool?  Peacepool, 
where  the  good  whales  lie,  waiting  till  Mother 
Carey  shall  send  for  them  "to  make  them  out 
of  old  beasts  into  new"? 

Tom  swims  up  to  the  nearest  whale  and  asks 
the  way  to  Mother  Carey. 

53 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"There  she  is  in  the  middle,"  says  the  whale, 
though  Tom  sees  nothing  but  a  glittering  white 
peak  like  an  iceberg.  "That's  Mother  Carey," 
spouts  the  whale,  "as  you  will  find  if  you  get  to 
her.  There  she  sits  making  old  beasts  into  new 
all  the  year  round." 

"How  does  she  do  that?"  asks  Tom. 

"That's  her  concern,  not  mine!"  the  whale 
remarks  discreetly. 

And  when  Tom  came  nearer  to  the  white 
glittering  peak  it  took  the  form  of  something 
like  a  lovely  woman  sitting  on  a  white  marble 
throne.  And  from  the  foot  of  the  throne,  you 
remember,  there  swam  away,  out  and  out  into 
the  sea,  millions  of  new-born  creatures  of  more 
shapes  and  colors  than  man  ever  dreamed.  And 
they  were  Mother  Carey's  children  whom  she 
makes  all  day  long. 

Tom  expected,  —  I  am  still  telling  you  what 
happened  to  the  famous  water  baby,  —  Tom 
expected  (like  some  grown  people  who  ought  to 
know  better)  that  he  would  find  Mother  Carey 
snipping,  piecing,  fitting,  stitching,  cobbling, 
basting,  filing,  planing,  hammering,  turning, 
polishing,  moulding,  measuring,  chiselling,  clip- 
ping, and  so  forth,  as  men  do  when  they  go  to 
work  to  make  anything.  But  instead  of  that  she 
sat  quite  still  with  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  look- 

54 


Old  Beasts  into  New 


ing  down  into  the  sea  with  two  great  blue  eyes 
as  blue  as  the  sea  itself.  (As  blue  as  our  own 
mother's  blue  velvet  bonnet,  Kitty  would  have 
said.) 

Was  Beulah  the  right  place,  wondered  Mrs. 
Carey  as  she  dropped  asleep.  And  all  night  long 
she  heard  in  dreams  the  voice  of  that  shining 
little  river  that  ran  under  the  bridge  near  Beulah 
village;  and  all  night  long  she  walked  in  fields 
of  buttercups  and  daisies,  and  saw  the  June 
breeze  blow  the  tall  grasses.  She  entered  the 
yellow  painted  house  and  put  the  children  to 
bed  in  the  different  rooms,  and  the  instant  she 
saw  them  sleeping  there  it  became  home,  and 
her  heart  put  out  little  roots  that  were  like  ten- 
drils ;  but  they  grew  so  fast  that  by  morning  they 
held  the  yellow  house  fast  and  refused  to  let  it  go. 

She  looked  from  its  windows  onto  the  gardens 
"fore  and  aft,"  and  they  seemed,  like  the  rest  of 
little  Beulah  village,  full  of  sweet  promise.  In 
the  back  were  all  sorts  of  good  things  to  eat 
growing  in  profusion,  but  modestly  out  of  sight; 
and  in  front,  where  passers-by  could  see  their 
beauty  and  sniff  their  fragrance,  old-fashioned 
posies  bloomed  and  rioted  and  tossed  gay,  per- 
fumed heads  in  the  sunshine. 

She  awoke  refreshed  and  strong  and  brave, 
not  the  same  woman  who  took  Nancy's  idea  to 

55 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


bed  with  her;  for  this  woman's  heart  and  hope 
had  somehow  flown  from  the  brick  house  in 
Charlestown  and  had  built  itself  a  new  nest  in 
Beulah's  green  trees,  the  elms  and  willows  that 
overhung  the  shining  river. 

An  idea  of  her  own  ran  out  and  met  Nancy's 
half  way.  Instead  of  going  herself  to  spy  out  the 
land  of  Beulah,  why  not  send  Gilbert?  It  was 
a  short,  inexpensive  railway  journey,  with  no 
change  of  cars.  Gilbert  was  nearly  fourteen,  and 
thus  far  seemed  to  have  no  notion  of  life  as  a 
difficult  enterprise.  No  mother  who  respects  her 
boy,  or  respects  herself,  can  ask  him  flatly, 
"Do  you  intend  to  grow  up  with  the  idea  of 
taking  care  of  me;  of  having  an  eye  to  your 
sisters;  or  do  you  consider  that,  since  I  brought 
you  into  the  world,  I  must  provide  both  for 
myself  and  you  until  you  are  a  man,  —  or  forever 
and  a  day  after,  if  you  feel  inclined  to  shirk  your 
part  in  the  affair?" 

Gilbert  talked  of  his  college  course  as  confi- 
dently as  he  had  before  his  father's  death.  It 
was  Nancy  who  as  the  eldest  seemed  the  head 
of  the  family,  but  Gilbert,  only  a  year  or  so  her 
junior,  ought  to  grow  into  the  head,  somehow  or 
other.  The  way  to  begin  would  be  to  give  him 
a  few  delightful  responsibilities,  such  as  would 
appeal  to  his  pride  and  sense  of  importance,  and 

56 


Old  Beasts  into  New 


gradually  to  mingle  with  them  certain  duties 
of  headship  neither  so  simple  nor  so  agreeable. 
Beulah  would  be  a  delightful  beginning.  Nancy 
the  Pathfinder  would  have  packed  a  bag  and 
gone  to  Beulah  on  an  hour's  notice;  found  the 
real-estate  dealer,  in  case  there  was  such  a  metro- 
politan article  in  the  village;  looked  up  her  fa- 
ther's old  friend  the  Colonel  with  the  forgotten 
surname;  discovered  the  owner  of  the  charming 
house,  rented  it,  and  brought  back  the  key  in 
triumph!  But  Nancy  was  a  girl  rich  in  courage 
and  enterprise,  while  Gilbert's  manliness  and 
leadership  and  discretion  and  consideration  for 
others  needed  a  vigorous,  decisive,  continued 
push. 

If  Nancy's  idea  was  good,  Mother  Carey's 
idea  matched  it!  To  see  Gilbert,  valise  in  hand, 
eight  dollars  in  pocket,  leaving  Charlestown  on  a 
Friday  noon  after  school,  was  equal  to  watching 
Columbus  depart  for  an  unknown  land.  Thrill- 
ing is  the  only  word  that  will  properly  describe  it, 
and  the  group  that  followed  his  departure  from 
the  upper  windows  used  it  freely  and  generously. 
He  had  gone  gayly  downstairs  and  Nancy  flung 
after  him  a  small  packet  in  an  envelope,  just  as 
he  reached  the  door. 

"There's  a  photograph  of  your  mother  and 
sisters!"  she  called.    "In  case  the  owner  refuses 

57 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


to  rent  the  house  to  you,  just  show  him  the  rest 
of  the  family!  And  don't  forget  to  say  that  the 
rent  is  exorbitant,  whatever  it  is!" 

They  watched  him  go  jauntily  down  the  street, 
Mother  Carey  with  special  pride  in  her  eyes. 
He  had  on  his  second  best  suit,  and  it  looked  well 
on  his  straight  slim  figure.  He  had  a  gallant  air, 
had  Gilbert,  and  one  could  not  truly  say  it  was 
surface  gallantry  either;  it  simply  did  not,  at 
present,  go  very  deep.  "No  one  could  call  him 
anything  but  a  fine  boy,"  thought  the  mother, 
"and  surely  the  outside  is  a  key  to  what  is 
within !  —  His  firm  chin,  his  erect  head,  his 
bright  eye,  his  quick  tread,  his  air  of  alert  self- 
reliance,  —  surely  here  is  enough  for  any  mother 
to  build  on!" 


VIII 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  BEULAH  CASTLE 

Nancy's  flushed  face  was  glued  to  the  window- 
pane  until  Gilbert  turned  the  corner.  He  looked 
back,  took  off  his  cap,  threw  a  kiss  to  them,  and 
was  out  of  sight! 

"Oh!  how  I  wish  /  could  have  gone!"  cried 
Nancy.  "I  hope  he  won't  forget  what  he  went 
for!  I  hope  he  won't  take  'No'  for  an  answer. 
Oh!  why  was  n't  I  a  boy!" 

Mrs.  Carey  laughed  as  she  turned  from  the 
window. 

"It  will  be  a  great  adventure  for  the  man  of 
the  house,  Nancy,  so  never  mind.  What  would 
the  Pathfinder  have  done  if  she  had  gone,  in- 
stead of  her  brother?" 

"I?  Oh!  Millions  of  things!"  said  Nancy, 
pacing  the  sitting-room  floor,  her  head  bent  a 
little,  her  hands  behind  her  back.  "I  should  be 
going  to  the  new  railway  station  in  Boston  now, 
and  presently  I  should  be  at  the  little  grated 
window  asking  for  a  return  ticket  to  Greentown 
station.  *  Four  ten,'  the  man  would  say,  and  I 
would  fling  my  whole  eight  dollars  in  front  of  the 
wicket  to  show  him  what  manner  of  person  I  was. 

59 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Then  I  would  pick  up  the  naught-from-naught- 
is-naught,  one-from-ten-is-nine,  five-from-eight- 
is-three,  —  three  dollars  and  ninety  cents  or 
thereabouts  and  turn  away. 

" ' Parlor  car  seat,  Miss? '  the  young  man  would 
say,  —  a  warm,  worried  young  man  in  a  seer- 
sucker coat,  and  I  would  answer,  'No  thank  you; 
I  always  go  in  the  common  car  to  study  human 
nature/  That's  what  the  Admiral  says,  but  of 
course  the  ticket  man  could  n't  know  that  the 
Admiral  is  an  intimate  friend  of  mine,  and  would 
think  I  said  it  myself. 

"Then  I  would  go  down  the  platform  and  take 
the  common  car  for  Greentown.  Soon  we  would 
be  off  and  I  would  ask  the  conductor  if  Green- 
town  was  the  station  where  one  could  change 
and  drive  to  Beulah,  darling  little  Beulah,  shiny- 
rivered  Beulah;  not  breathing  a  word  about  the 
yellow  house  for  fear  he  would  jump  off  the 
train  and  rent  it  first.  Then  he  would  say  he 
never  heard  of  Beulah.  I  would  look  pityingly 
at  him,  but  make  no  reply  because  it  would  be 
no  use,  and  anyway  I  know  Greentown  is  the 
changing  place,  because  I've  asked  three  men 
before;  but  Cousin  Ann  always  likes  to  make 
conductors  acknowledge  they  don't  know  as 
much  as  she  does. 

"Then  I  present  a  few  peanuts  or  pepper- 
60 


The  Knight  of  Beulah  Castle 

mints  to  a  small  boy,  and  hold  an  infant  for  a 
tired  mother,  because  this  is  what  good  children 
do  in  the  Sunday-school  books,  but  I  do  not 
mingle  much  with  the  passengers  because  my 
brow  is  furrowed  with  thought  and  I  am  travel- 
ling on  important  business." 

You  can  well  imagine  that  by  this  time  Mother 
Carey  has  taken  out  her  darning,  and  Kathleen 
her  oversewing,  to  which  she  pays  little  atten- 
tion because  she  so  adores  Nancy's  tales.  Peter 
has  sat  like  a  small  statue  ever  since  his  quick 
ear  caught  the  sound  of  a  story.  His  eyes  follow 
Nancy  as  she  walks  up  and  down  improvising, 
and  the  only  interruption  she  ever  receives  from 
her  audience  is  Kathleen's  or  Mother  Carey's 
occasional  laugh  at  some  especially  ridiculous 
sentence. 

"The  hours  fly  by  like  minutes,"  continues 
Nancy,  stopping  by  the  side  window  and  twirl- 
ing the  curtain  tassel  absently.  "I  scan  the  sur- 
rounding country  to  see  if  anything  compares 
with  Beulah,  and  nothing  does.  No  such  river, 
no  such  trees,  no  such  well,  no  such  old  oaken 
bucket,  and  above  all  no  such  Yellow  House.  All 
the  other  houses  I  see  are  but  as  huts  compared 
with  the  Yellow  House  of  Beulah.  Soon  the  car 
door  opens;  a  brakeman  looks  in  and  calls  in 
a  rich   baritone   voice,    '  Greentown !  Green  — 

61 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


town !  Do-not-leave-any-passles  in  the  car ! '  And 
if  you  know  beforehand  what  he  is  going  to  say 
you  can  understand  him  quite  nicely,  so  I  take 
up  my  bag  and  go  down  the  aisle  with  dignity. 
'Step  lively,  Miss!'  cries  the  brakeman,  but  I  do 
not  heed  him;  it  is  not  likely  that  a  person  rent- 
ing country  houses  will  move  save  with  majesty. 
Alighting,  I  inquire  if  there  is  any  conveyance 
for  Beulah,  and  there  is,  a  wagon  and  a  white 
horse.  I  ask  the  driver  boldly  to  drive  me  to  the 
Colonel's  office.  He  does  not  ask  which  Colonel, 
or  what  Colonel,  he  simply  says, '  Colonel  Foster, 
I  s'pose,'  and  I  say,  'Certainly.'  We  arrive  at 
the  office  and  when  I  introduce  myself  as  Cap- 
tain Carey's  daughter  I  receive  a  glad  welcome. 
The  Colonel  rings  a  bell  and  an  aged  beldame 
approaches,  making  a  deep  curtsy  and  offering 
me  a  beaker  of  milk,  a  crusty  loaf,  a  few  venison 
pasties,  and  a  cold  goose  stuffed  with  humming 
birds.  When  I  have  reduced  these  to  nothing- 
ness I  ask  if  the  yellow  house  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  village  is  still  vacant,  and  the  Colonel  replies 
that  it  is,  at  which  unexpected  but  hoped-for 
answer  I  fall  into  a  deep  swoon.  When  I  awake 
the  aged  Colonel  is  bending  over  me,  his  long 
white  goat's  beard  tickling  my  chin." 

(Mother  Carey  stops  her  darning  now  and 
Kathleen  makes  no  pretence  of  sewing;  the  story 

62 


The  Knight  of  Beulah  Castle 

is  fast  approaching  its  climax, — everybody  feels 
that,  including  Peter,  who  hopes  that  he  will  be 
in  it,  in  some  guise  or  other,  before  it  ends.) 

"'Art  thou  married,  lady?'  the  aged  one  asks 
courteously,  'and  if  not,  wilt  thou  be  mine?'" 

"I  tremble,  because  he  does  not  seem  to 
notice  that  he  is  eighty  or  ninety  and  I  but  fif- 
teen, yet  I  fear  if  I  reject  him  too  scornfully  and 
speedily  the  Yellow  House  will  never  be  mine. 
?  Grant  me  a  little  time  in  which  to  fit  myself  for 
this  great  honor,'  I  say  modestly,  and  a  mighty 
good  idea,  too,  that  I  got  out  of  a  book  the  other 
day;  when  suddenly,  as  I  gaze  upward,  my 
suitor's  white  hair  turns  to  brown,  his  beard  drops 
off,  his  wrinkles  disappear,  and  he  stands  before 
me  a  young  Knight,  in  full  armor.  'Wilt  go  to 
the  yellow  castle  with  me,  sweet  lady?'  he  asks. 
'  Wilt  I! '  I  cry  in  ecstasy,  and  we  leap  on  the  back 
of  a  charger  hitched  to  the  Colonel's  horseblock. 
We  dash  down  the  avenue  of  elms  and  maples 
that  line  the  village  street,  and  we  are  at  our 
journey's  end  before  the  Knight  has  had  time  to 
explain  to  me  that  he  was  changed  into  the  guise 
of  an  old  man  by  an  evil  sorcerer  some  years  be- 
fore, and  could  never  return  to  his  own  person 
until  some  one  appeared  who  wished  to  live  in 
the  yellow  house,  which  is  Beulah  Castle. 

"We  approach  the  well-known  spot  and  the 
63 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


little  picket  gate,  and  the  Knight  lifts  me  from 
the  charger's  back.  "Here  are  house  and  lands, 
and  all  are  yours,  sweet  lady,  if  you  have  a 
younger  brother.  There  is  treasure  hidden  in 
the  ground  behind  the  castle,  and  no  one  ever 
finds  such  things  save  younger  brothers.' 

"  'I  have  a  younger  brother,'  I  cry,  'and  his 
name  is  Peter! '" 

At  this  point  in  Nancy's  chronicle  Peter  is 
nearly  beside  himself  with  excitement.  He  has 
been  sitting  on  his  hassock,  his  hands  outspread 
upon  his  fat  knees,  his  lips  parted,  his  eyes  shin- 
ing. Somewhere,  sometime,  in  Nancy's  stories 
there  is  always  a  Peter.  He  lives  for  that  mo- 
ment! 

Nancy,  stifling  her  laughter,  goes  on  rapidly: 

"  And  so  the  Knight  summons  Younger  Brother 
Peter  to  come,  and  he  flies  in  a  great  air  ship  from 
Charlestown  to  Beulah.  And  when  he  arrives 
the  Knight  asks  him  to  dig  for  the  buried  trea- 
sure." 

(Peter  here  turns  up  his  sleeves  to  his  dimpled 
elbows  and  seizes  an  imaginary  implement.) 

"Peter  goes  to  the  back  of  the  castle,  and  there 
is  a  beautiful  garden  filled  with  corn  and  beans 
and  peas  and  lettuce  and  potatoes  and  beets  and 
onions  and  turnips  and  carrots  and  parsnips  and 
tomatoes  and  cabbages.  He  takes  his  magic  spade 

64 


The  Knight  of  Beulah  Castle 

and  it  leads  him  to  the  cabbages.  He  digs  and 
digs,  and  in  a  moment  the  spade  strikes  metal ! 

"'He  has  found  the  gold!'  cries  the  Knight, 
and  Peter  speedily  lifts  from  the  ground  pots 
and  pots  of  ducats  and  florins,  and  gulden  and 
doubloons." 

(Peter  nods  his  head  at  the  mention  of  each 
precious  coin  and  then  claps  his  hands,  and  hugs 
himself  with  joy,  and  rocks  himself  to  and  fro 
on  the  hassock,  in  his  ecstasy  at  being  the  little 
god  in  the  machine.) 

"Then  down  the  village  street  there  is  the 
sound  of  hurrying  horses'  feet,  and  in  a  twink- 
ling a  gayly  painted  chariot  comes  into  view,  and 
in  it  are  sitting  the  Queen  Mother  and  the  Crown 
Prince  and  Princess  of  the  House  of  Carey.  They 
alight;  Peter  meets  them  at  the  gate,  a  pot  of 
gold  in  each  hand.  They  enter  the  castle  and 
put  their  umbrellas  in  one  corner  of  the  front  hall 
and  their  rubbers  in  the  other  one,  behind  the 
door.  Lady  Nancibel  trips  up  the  steps  after 
them  and,  turning,  says  graciously  to  her  Knight, 
'Would  you  just  as  soon  marry  somebody  else? 
I  am  very  much  attached  to  my  family,  and  they 
will  need  me  dreadfully  while  they  are  getting 
settled.' 

"'I  did  not  recall  the  fact  that  I  had  asked 
you  to  be  mine,'  courteously  answers  the  youth. 

65 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"'You  did,'  she  responds,  very  much  embar- 
rassed, as  she  supposed  of  course  he  would  remem- 
ber his  offer  made  when  he  was  an  old  man  with 
a  goat's  beard;  'but  gladly  will  I  forget  all,  if 
you  will  relinquish  my  hand.' 

"'As  you  please!'  answers  the  Knight  gen- 
erously. 'I  can  deny  you  nothing  when  I  re- 
member you  have  brought  me  back  my  youth. 
Prithee,  is  the  other  lady  bespoke,  she  of  the 
golden  hair?' 

"'Many  have  asked,  but  I  have  chosen  none,' 
answers  the  Crown  Princess  Kitty  modestly,  as 
is  her  wont. 

"'Then  you  will  do  nicely,'  says  the  Knight, 
'since  all  I  wish  is  to  be  son-in-law  to  the  Queen 
Mother!' 

"'Right  you  are,  my  hearty!'  cries  Prince 
Gilbert  de  Carey,  'and  as  we  much  do  need  a 
hand  at  the  silver-polishing  I  will  gladly  give  my 
sister  in  marriage!' 

"So  they  all  went  intoBeulah  Castle  and  locked 
the  door  behind  them,  and  there  they  lived  in 
great  happiness  and  comfort  all  the  days  of  their 
lives,  and  there  they  died  when  it  came  their 
time*  and  they  were  all  buried  by  the  shores  of 
the  shining  river  of  Beulah!" 

"  Oh !  it  is  perfectly  splendid ! "  cried  Kathleen. 
"About  the  best  one  you  ever  told!  But  do 

66 


The  Knight  of  Beulah  Castle 

change  the  end  a  bit,  Nancy  dear !  It 's  dreadful 
for  him  to  marry  Kitty  when  he  chose  Nancibel 
first.  I  'd  like  him  awfully,  but  I  don't  want  to 
take  him  that  way!" 

"Well,  how  would  this  do?  "  and  Nancy  pon- 
dered a  moment  before  going  on:  "' Right  you 
are,  my  hearty ! '  cries  Prince  Gilbert  de  Carey, 
1  and  as  we  do  need  a  hand  at  the  silver-polishing 
I  will  gladly  give  my  sister  in  marriage.' 

"'Hold!'  cries  the  Queen  Mother.  'All  is  not 
as  it  should  be  in  this  coil!  How  can  you  tell,' 
she  says,  turning  to  the  knightly  stranger,  'that 
memory  will  not  awake  one  day,  and  you  recall 
the  adoration  you  felt  when  you  first  beheld  the 
Lady  Nancibel  in  a  deep  swoon?' 

"The  Young  Knight's  eyes  took  on  a  far-away 
look  and  he  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

" '  It  comes  back  to  me  now ! '  he  sighed.  '  I  did 
love  the  Lady  Nancibel  passionately,  and  I  can- 
not think  how  it  slipped  my  mind!' 

"'I  release  you  willingly!'  exclaimed  the 
Crown  Princess  Kitty  haughtily,  'for  a  million 
suitors  await  my  nod,  and  thou  wert  never  really 
mine!' 

" '  But  the  other  lady  rejects  me  also ! '  responds 
the  luckless  youth,  the  tears  flowing  from  his 
eagle  eyes  onto  his  crimson  mantle. 

"'Wilt  delay  the  nuptials  until  I  am  eighteen 
67 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


and  the  castle  is  set  in  order?'  asks  the  Lady 
Nancibel  relentingly. 

"  *  Since  it  must  be,  I  do  pledge  thee  my  vow 
to  wait,'  says  the  Knight.  'And  I  do  beg  the  fair 
one  with  the  golden  locks  to  consider  the  claims 
of  my  brother,  not  my  equal  perhaps,  but  still  a 
gallant  youth.' 

"  *  I  will  enter  him  on  my  waiting  list  as  num- 
ber Three  Hundred  and  Seventeen,'  responds  the 
Crown  Princess  Kitty,  than  whom  no  violet 
could  be  more  shy.  "Tis  all  he  can  expect  and 
more  than  I  should  promise.' 

"So  they  all  lived  in  the  yellow  castle  in  great 
happiness  forever  after,  and  were  buried  by  the 
shores  of  the  shining  river  of  Beulah !  —  Does 
that  suit  you  better?" 

"Simply  lovely!"  cried  Kitty,  "and  the  bit 
about  my  modesty  is  too  funny  for  words!  — 
Oh,  if  some  of  it  would  only  happen !  But  I  am 
afraid  Gilbert  will  not  stir  up  any  fairy  stories 
and  set  them  going." 

"Some  of  it  will  happen!"  exclaimed  Peter. 
"I  shall  dig  every  single  day  till  I  find  the  gold- 
pots." 

"You  are  a  pot  of  gold  yourself,  filled  full  and 
running  over ! " 

"Now,  Nancy, run  and  write  down  your  fairy 
tale  while  you  remember  it!"  said  Mother  Carey. 

68 


The  Knight  of  Beulah  Casti,e 

"It  is  as  good  an  exercise  as  any  other,  and  you 
still  tell  a  story  far  better  than  you  write  it!" 

Nancy  did  this  sort  of  improvising  every  now 
and  then,  and  had  done  it  from  earliest  child- 
hood; and  sometimes,  of  late,  Mother  Carey 
looked  at  her  eldest  chicken  and  wondered  if 
after  all  she  had  hatched  in  her  a  bird  of  brighter 
plumage  or  rarer  song  than  the  rest,  or  a  young 
eagle  whose  strong  wings  would  bear  her  to  a 
higher  flight! 


IX 

GILBERTS  EMBASSY 

The  new  station  had  just  been  built  in  Boston, 
and  it  seemed  a  great  enterprise  to  Gilbert  to  be 
threading  his  way  through  the  enormous  spaces, 
getting  his  information  by  his  own  wits  and  not 
asking  questions  like  a  stupid  schoolboy.  Like 
all  children  of  naval  officers,  the  Careys  had  trav- 
elled ever  since  their  birth;  still,  this  was  Gil- 
bert's first  journey  alone,  and  nobody  was  ever 
more  conscious  of  the  situation,  nor  more  anx- 
ious to  carry  it  off  effectively. 

He  entered  the  car,  opened  his  bag,  took  out 
his  travelling  cap  and  his  copy  of  "Ben  Hur," 
then  threw  the  bag  in  a  lordly  way  into  the 
brass  rack  above  the  seat.  He  opened  his  book, 
but  immediately  became  interested  in  a  young 
couple  just  in  front  of  him.  They  were  carefully 
dressed,  even  to  details  of  hats  and  gloves,  and 
tfhey  had  an  unmistakable  air  of  wedding  jour- 
ney about  them  that  interested  the  curious  boy. 

Presently  the  conductor  came  in.  Pausing  in 
front  of  the  groom  he  said*  "Tickets,  please"; 
then:  "You  're  on  the  wrong  train!" 

70 


Gilbert's  Embassy 


"Wrong  train?  Of  course'  I  *m  not  on  the 
wrong  train !  You  must  be  mistaken !  The  ticket 
agent  told  me  to  take  this  train." 

"Can't  help  that,  sir,  this  train  don't  go  to 
Lawrence." 

"It 's  very  curious.  I  asked  the  brakeman,  and 
two  porters.   Ain't  this  the  3.05?" 

"This  is  the  3.05." 

"Where  does  it  go,  then?" 

"Goes  to  Lowell.   Lowell  the  first  stop." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Lowell!" 

"What's  the  matter  with  Lowell?  It's  a  good 
place  all  right!" 

"But  I  have  an  appointment  in  Lawrence  at 
four  o'clock." 

"I'm  dretful  sorry,  but  you'll  have  to  keep  it 
in  Lowell,  I  guess!  —  Tickets,  please!"  this  to  a 
pretty  giri  on  the  opposite  side  from  Gilbert,  a 
pink  and  white,  unsophisticated  maiden,  very 
much  interested  in  the  woes  of  the  bride  and 
groom  and  entirely  sympathetic  with  the  groom's 
helpless  wrath. 

"On  the  wrong  train,  Miss!"  said  the  con- 
ductor. 

"On  the  wrong  train?"  She  spoke  in  a  tone 
of  anguish,  getting  up  and  catching  her  valise 
frantically.  "  It  can't  be  the  wrong  train !  Isn't 
rt  the  White  Mountain  train?" 

71 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Yes,  Miss,  but  it  don't  go  to  North  Conway; 
it  goes  to  Fabyan's." 

"But  my  father  put  me  on  this  train  and 
everybody  said  it  was  the  White  Mountain 
train!" 

"So  it  is,  Miss,  but  if  you  wanted  to  stop  at 
North  Conway  you'd  ought  to  have  taken  the 
3.55,  platform  8." 

"Put  me  off,  then,  please,  and  let  me  wait  for 
the  3.55." 

"Can't  do  it,  Miss;  this  is  an  express  train; 
only  stops  at  Lowell,  where  this  gentleman  is 
going!" 

(Here  the  conductor  gave  a  sportive  wink  at 
the  bridegroom  who  had  an  appointment  in 
Lawrence.) 

The  pretty  girl  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears  and 
turned  her  face  despairingly  to  the  window, 
while  the  bride  talked  to  the  groom  excitedly 
about  what  they  ought  to  have  done  and  what 
they  would  have  done  had  she  been  consulted. 

Gilbert  could  hardly  conceal  his  enjoyment 
of  the  situation,  and  indeed  everybody  within 
hearing  —  that  is,  anybody  who  chanced  to  be 
on  the  right  train  —  looked  at  the  bride  and 
groom  and  the  pretty  girl,  and  tittered  audibly. 

"Why  don't  people  make  inquiries?"  thought 
Gilbert    superciliously.     "Perhaps    they    have 

72 


Gilbert's  Embassy 


never  been  anywhere  before,  but  even  that's  no 
excuse." 

He  handed  his  ticket  to  the  conductor  with  a 
broad  smile,  saying  in  an  undertone,  "What  kind 
of  passengers  are  we  carrying  this  afternoon?" 

"The  usual  kind,  I  guess!  —  You're  on  the 
wrong  train,  sonny!" 

Gilbert  almost  leaped  into  the  air,  and  com- 
mitted himself  by  making  a  motion  to  reach 
down  his  valise. 

"I,  on  the  wrong  train?"  he  asked  haughtily. 
"That  can't  be  so;  the  ticket  agent  told  me  the 
3.05  was  the  only  fast  train  to  Greentown!" 

"Mebbe  he  thought  you  said  Greenville;  this 
train  goes  to  Greenville,  if  that  '11  do  you !  Folks 
ain't  used  to  the  new  station  yet,  and  the  ticket 
agents  are  all  bran'  new  too,  —  guess  you  got 
hold  of  a  tenderfoot!" 

"But  Greenville  will  not  'do'  for  me,"  ex- 
claimed Gilbert.    "I  want  to  go  to  Greentown." 

"Well,  get  off  at  Lowell,  the  first  stop,  — 
you'll  know  when  you  come  to  it  because  this 
gentleman  that  wanted  to  go  to  Lawrence  will 
get  off  there,  and  this  young  lady  that  was 
intendin'  to  go  to  North  Conway.  There'll  be 
four  of  you;  jest  a  nice  party." 

Gilbert  choked  with  wrath  as  he  saw  the  mirth 
of  the  other  passengers. 

73 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"What  train  shall  I  be  able  to  take  to  Green- 
town,"  he  managed  to  call  after  the  conductor. 

"Don't  know,  sonny!  Ask  the  ticket  agent  in 
the  Lowell  deepot;  he's  an  old  hand  and  he'll 
know!" 

Gilbert's  pride  was  terribly  wounded,  but  his 
spirits  rose  a  little  later  when  he  found  that  he 
would  only  have  to  wait  twenty  minutes  in  the 
Lowell  station  before  a  slow  train  for  Greentown 
would  pick  him  up,  and  that  he  should  still  reach 
his  destination  before  bedtime,  and  need  never 
disclose  his  stupidity. 

After  all,  this  proved  to  be  his  only  error,  for 
everything  moved  smoothly  from  that  moment, 
and  he  was  as  prudent  and  successful  an  am- 
bassador as  Mother  Carey  could  have  chosen. 
He  found  the  Colonel,  whose  name  was  not 
Foster,  by  the  way,  but  Wheeler;  and  the 
Colonel  would  not  allow  him  to  go  to  the  Man- 
sion House,  Beulah's  one  small  hotel,  but  in- 
sisted that  he  should  be  his  guest.  That  evening 
he  heard  from  the  Colonel  the  history  of  the 
yellow  house,  and  the  next  morning  the  Colonel 
drove  him  to  the  store  of  the  man  who  had 
charge  of  it  during  the  owner's  absence  in  Eu- 
rope, after  which  Gilbert  was  conducted  in  due 
form  to  the  premises  for  a  critical  examination. 

The  Yellow  House,  as  Garden  Fore-and-Aft 

74 


Gilbert's  Embassy 


seemed  destined  to  be  chiefly  called,  was  indeed 
the  only  house  of  that  color  for  ten  miles  square. 
It  had  belonged  to  the  various  branches  of  a 
certain  family  of  Hamiltons  for  fifty,  years  or 
more,  but  in  course  of  time,  when  it  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  Lemuel  Hamiltons,  it  had  no  sort 
of  relation  to  their  mode  of  existence.  One  sum- 
mer, a  year  or  two  before  the  Careys  had  seen  it, 
the  sons  and  daughters  had  come  on  from  Boston 
and  begged  their  father  to  let  them  put  it  in  such 
order  that  they  could  take  house  parties  of 
young  people  there  for  the  week  end.  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton indulgently  allowed  them  a  certain  amount 
to  be  expended  as  they  wished,  and  with  the 
help  of  a  local  carpenter,  they  succeeded  in 
doing  several  things  to  their  own  complete  satis- 
faction, though  it  could  not  be  said  that  they 
added  to  the  value  of  the  property.  The  house 
they  regarded  merely  as  a  camping-out  place, 
and  after  they  had  painted  some  bedroom  floors, 
set  up  some  cots,  bought  a  kitchen  stove  and 
some  pine  tables  and  chairs,  they  regarded  that 
part  of  the  difficulty  as  solved;  expending  the 
rest  of  the  money  in  turning  the  dilapidated  barn 
into  a  place  where  they  could  hold  high  revels 
of  various  innocent  sorts.  The  two  freshman 
sons,  two  boarding-school  daughters,  and  a 
married  sister  barely  old  enough  to  chaperon 

75 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


her  own  baby,  brought  parties  of  gay  young 
friends  with  them  several  weeks  in  succession. 
These  excursions  were  a  great  delight  to  the 
villagers,  who  thus  enjoyed  all  the  pleasures  and 
excitements  of  a  circus  with  none  of  its  attendant 
expenses.  They  were  of  short  duration,  how- 
ever, for  Lemuel  Hamilton  was  appointed  consul 
to  a  foreign  port  and  took  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ters with  him.  The  married  sister  died,  and  in 
course  of  time  one  of  the  sons  went  to  China 
to  learn  tea-planting  and  the  other  established 
himself  on  a  ranch  in  Texas.  Thus  the  Lemuel 
Hamiltons  were  scattered  far  and  wide,  and  as 
the  Yellow  House  in  Beulah  had  small  value  as 
real  estate  and  had  never  played  any  part  in 
their  lives,  it  was  almost  forgotten  as  the  busy 
years  went  by. 

"Mr.  Hamilton  told  me  four  years  ago,  when 
I  went  up  to  Boston  to  meet  him,  that  if  I  could 
get  any  rent  from  respectable  parties  I  might 
let  the  house,  though  he  would  n't  lay  out  a  cent 
on  repairs  in  order  to  get  a  tenant.  But,  land! 
there  ain't  no  call  for  houses  in  Beulah,  nor 
hain't  been  for  twenty  years,"  so  Bill  Harmon, 
the  storekeeper,  told  Gilbert.  "The  house  has 
got  a  tight  roof  and  good  underpinnin',  and  if 
your  folks  feel  like  payin'  out  a  little  money  for 
paint  'n'  paper  you  can  fix  it  up  neat's  a  pin. 

76 


Gilbert's  Embassy 


The  Hamilton  boys  jest  raised  Cain  out  in  the 
barn,  so  't  you  can't  keep  no  critters  there." 

"We  could  n't  have  a  horse  or  a  cow  anyway," 
said  Gilbert. 

"  Well,  it 's  lucky  you  can't.  I  could  'a'  rented 
the  house  twice  over  if  there 'd  been  any  barn 
room;  but  them  confounded  young  scalawags 
ripped  out  the  horse  and  cow  stalls,  cleared 
away  the  pig  pen,  and  laid  a  floor  they  could 
dance  on.  The  barn  chamber  's  full  o'  their  stuff, 
so't  no  hay  can  go  in;  altogether  there  ain't  any 
nameable  kind  of  a  fool-trick  them  young  var- 
mints did  n't  play  on  these  premises.  When  a 
farmer's  lookin'  for  a  home  for  his  family  and 
stock  't  ain't  no  use  to  show  him  a  dance  hall. 
The  only  dancin'  a  Maine  farmer  ever  does  is 
dancin'  round  to  git  his  livin'  out  o'  the  earth; 
—  that  keeps  his  feet  flyin',  fast  enough." 

"Well,"  said  Gilbert,  "I  think  if  you  can  put 
the  rent  cheap  enough  so  that  we  could  make  the 
necessary  repairs,  I  think  my  mother  would  con- 
sider it." 

"Would  you  want  it  for  more'n  this  sum- 
mer?" asked  Mr.  Harmon. 

"Oh!  yes,  we  want  to  live  here!" 

"Want  to  live  here!"  exclaimed  the  aston- 
ished Harmon.  "Well,  it's  been  a  long  time 
sence  we  heard  anybody  say  that,  eh,  Colonel? 

77 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


—  Well  now,  sonny"  (Gilbert  did  wish  that 
respect  for  budding  manhood  could  be  stretched 
a  little  further  in  this  locality),  "I  tell  you  what, 
I  ain't  goin'  to  stick  no  fancy  price  on  these 
premises  — " 

"It  wouldn't  be  any  use,"  said  Gilbert 
boldly.  "My  father  has  died  within  a  year; 
there  are  four  of  us  beside  my  mother,  and 
there's  a  cousin,  too,  who  is  dependent  on  us. 
We  have  nothing  but  a  small  pension  and  the 
interest  on  five  thousand  dollars  life  insurance. 
Mother  says  we  must  go  away  from  all  our 
friends,  live  cheaply,  and  do  our  own  work 
until  Nancy,  Kitty,  and  I  grow  old  enough  to 
earn  something." 

Colonel  Wheeler  and  Mr.  Harmon  both  liked 
Gilbert  Carey  at  sight,  and  as  he  stood  there 
uttering  his  boyish  confidences  with  great 
friendliness  and  complete  candor,  both  men 
would  have  been  glad  to  meet  him  halfway. 

"Well,  Harmon,  it  seems  to  me  we  shall  get 
some  good  neighbors  if  we  can  make  terms 
with  Mrs.  Carey,"  said  the  Colonel.  "If  you'll 
fix  a  reasonable  figure  I'll  undertake  to  write 
to  Hamilton  and  interest  him  in  the  affair." 

"All  right.  Now,  Colonel,  I'd  like  to  make  a 
proposition  right  on  the  spot,  before  you,  and 
you  can  advise  sonny,  here.    You  see  Lem  has 

78 


Gilbert's  Embassy 


got  his  taxes  to  pay,  —  they  're  small,  of  course, 
but  they  're  an  expense,  —  and  he  'd  ought  to 
carry  a  little  insurance  on  his  buildings,  tho'  he 
ain't  had  any  up  to  now.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
he  can  get  a  tenant  that  '11  put  on  a  few  shingles 
and  clapboards  now  and  then,  or  a  coat  o'  paint 
'n'  a  roll  o'  wall  paper,  his  premises  won't  go  to 
rack  'n'  ruin  same 's  they  're  in  danger  o'  doin' 
at  the  present  time.  Now,  sonny,  would  your 
mother  feel  like  keepin'  up  things  a  little  mite  if 
we  should  say  sixty  dollars  a  year  rent,  payable 
monthly  or  quarterly  as  is  convenient?" 

Gilbert's  head  swam  and  his  eyes  beheld  such 
myriads  of  stars  that  he  felt  it  must  be  night 
instead  of  day.  The  rent  of  the  Charlestown 
house  was  seven  hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  the 
last  words  of  his  mother  had  been  to  the  effect 
that  two  hundred  was  the  limit  he  must  offer 
for  the  yellow  house,  as  she  did  not  see  clearly 
at  the  moment  how  they  could  afford  even  that 
sum. 

"What  would  be  your  advice,  Colonel?" 
stammered  the  boy. 

"I  think  sixty  dollars  is  not  exorbitant,"  the 
Colonel  answered  calmly  (he  had  seen  Beulah 
real  estate  fall  a  peg  a  year  for  twenty  successive 
years),  "though  naturally  you  cannot  pay  that 
sum  and  make  any  extravagant  repairs." 

79 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Then  I  will  take  the  house,"  Gilbert  re- 
marked largely.  "My  mother  left  the  matter 
of  rent  to  my  judgment,  and  we  will  pay 
promptly  in  advance.   Shall  I  sign  any  papers?" 

"Land  o'  Goshen!  the  marks  your  little  fist 
would  make  on  a  paper  would  n't  cut  much  of  a 
figure  in  a  court  o'  law!"  chuckled  old  Harmon. 
"You  jest  let  the  Colonel  fix  up  matters  with 
your  ma." 

"Can  I  walk  back,  Colonel?"  asked  Gilbert, 
trying  to  preserve  some  dignity  under  the  store- 
keeper's attacks.  "I'd  like  to  take  some  meas- 
urements and  make  some  sketches  of  the  rooms 
for  my  mother." 

"All  right,"  the  Colonel  responded.  "Your 
train  does  n't  go  till  two  o'clock.  I  '11  give  you  a 
bite  of  lunch  and  take  you  to  the  station." 

If  Mother  Carey  had  watched  Gilbert  during 
the  next  half -hour  she  would  have  been  gratified, 
for  every  moment  of  the  time  he  grew  more  and 
more  into  the  likeness  of  the  head  of  a  family. 
He  looked  at  the  cellar,  at  the  shed,  at  the  closets 
and  cupboards  all  over  the  house,  and  at  the 
fireplaces.  He  "paced  off"  all  the  rooms  and 
set  down  their  proportions  in  his  note-book;  he 
even  decided  as  to  who  should  occupy  each 
room,  and  for  what  purposes  they  should  be 

80 


Gilbert's  Embassy 


used,  his  judgment  in  every  case  being  thought 
ridiculous  by  the  feminine  portion  of  his  family 
when  they  looked  at  his  plans.  Then  he  locked 
the  doors  carefully  with  a  fine  sense  of  ownership 
and  strolled  away  with  many  a  backward  look 
and  thought  at  the  yellow  house. 

At  the  station  he  sent  a  telegram  to  his  mother. 
Nancy  had  secretly  given  him  thirty-five  cents 
when  he  left  home.  "I  am  hoarding  for  the 
Admiral's  Christmas  present,"  she  whispered, 
"but  it's  no  use,  I  cannot  endure  the  suspense 
about  the  house  a  moment  longer  than  is  neces- 
sary. Just  telegraph  us  yes  or  no,  and  we  shall 
get  the  news  four  hours  before  your  train  arrives. 
One  can  die  several  times  in  four  hours,  and  I  'm 
going  to  commit  one  last  extravagance,  —  at 
the  Admiral's  expense!" 

At  three  o'clock  on  Saturday  afternoon  a  tele- 
graph boy  came  through  the  gate  and  rang  the 
front  door  bell. 

"You  go,  Kitty,  I  haven't  the  courage!" 
said  Nancy,  sitting  down  on  the  sofa  heavily. 
A  moment  later  the  two  girls  and  Peter  (who  for 
once  did  n't  count)  gazed  at  their  mother  breath- 
lessly as  she  opened  the  envelope.  Her  face 
lighted  as  she  read  aloud:  — 

"  Victory  perches  on  my  banners.  Have  accom- 
plished all  I  went  for.  Gilbert." 

81 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Hurrah!'*  cried  both  girls.  "The  yellow 
house  is  the  House  of  Carey  foreverraore." 

"Will  Peter  go  too?"  asked  the  youngest 
Carey  eagerly,  his  nose  quivering  as  it  always 
did  in  excitement,  when  it  became  an  animated 
question  point. 

"I  should  think  he  would,"  exclaimed  Kitty, 
clasping  him  in  her  arms.  "What  would  the 
yellow  house  be  without  Peter?'' 

"I  wish  Gilbert  would  n't  talk  about  his  ban- 
ners," said  Nancy  critically,  as  she  looked  at  the 
telegram  over  her  mother's  shoulder.  "They're 
not  his  banners  at  all,  they  're  ours,  —  Carey 
banners;  that's  what  they  are!" 

Mother  Carey  had  wished  the  same  thing, 
but  hoped  that  Nancy  had  not  noticed  the 
Gilbertian  flaw  in  the  telegram. 


THE  CAREYS'  FLITTING 

The  Charlestown  house  was  now  put  immedi- 
ately into  the  hands  of  several  agents,  for  Mrs. 
Carey's  lease  had  still  four  years  to  run  and  she 
was  naturally  anxious  to  escape  from  this  finan- 
cial responsibility  as  soon  as  possible.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  only  three  days  elapsed  before  she  ob- 
tained a  tenant,  and  the  agent  had  easily  secured 
an  advance  of  a  hundred  dollars  a  year  to  the 
good,  as  Captain  Carey  had  obtained  a  very 
favorable  figure  when  he  took  the  house. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  April,  and  letters  from 
Colonel  Wheeler  had  already  asked  instructions 
about  having  the  vegetable  garden  ploughed. 
It  was  finally  decided  that  the  girls  should  leave 
their  spring  term  of  school  unfinished,  and  that 
the  family  should  move  to  Beulah  during  Gil- 
bert's Easter  vacation. 

Mother  Carey  gave  due  reflection  to  the  in- 
terrupted studies,  but  concluded  that  for  two 
girls  like  Nancy  and  Kathleen  the  making  of  a 
new  home  would  be  more  instructive  and  inspir- 
ing, and  more  fruitful  in  its  results,  than  weeks 
of  book  learning. 

83 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Youth  delights  in  change,  in  the  prospect  of 
new  scenes  and  fresh  adventures,  and  as  it  is 
never  troubled  by  any  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom 
of  its  plans,  the  Carey  children  were  full  of  vigor 
and  energy  just  now.  Charlestown,  the  old  house, 
the  daily  life,  all  had  grown  sad  and  dreary  to 
them  since  father  had  gone.  Everything  spoke  of 
him.  Even  mother  longed  for  something  to  lift 
her  thought  out  of  the  past  and  give  it  wings,  so 
that  it  might  fly  into  the  future  and  find  some 
hope  and  comfort  there.  There  was  a  continual 
bustle  from  morning  till  night,  and  a  spirit  of 
merriment  that  had  long  been  absent. 

The  Scotch  have  a  much  prettier  word  than 
we  for  all  this,  and  what  we  term  moving  they 
call  "flitting."  The  word  is  not  only  prettier, 
but  in  this  instance  more  appropriate.  It  was 
such  a  buoyant,  youthful  affair,  this  Carey  flit- 
ting. Light  forms  darted  up  and  down  the  stairs 
and  past  the  windows,  appearing  now  at  the 
back,  now  at  the  front  of  the  house,  with  a  pic- 
ture, or  a  postage  stamp,  or  a  dish,  or  a  penwiper, 
or  a  pillow,  or  a  basket,  or  a  spool.  The  chorus 
of  "Where  shall  we  put  this,  Muddy?"  "Where 
will  this  go?"  "May  we  throw  this  away?" 
would  have  distracted  a  less  patient  parent. 
When  Gilbert  returned  from  school  at  four,  the 
air  was  filled  with  sounds  of  hammering  and  saw- 

84 


The  Careys'  Flitting 


ing  and  filing,  screwing  and  unscrewing,  and  it 
was  joy  unspeakable  to  be  obliged  (or  at  least 
almost  obliged)  to  call  in  clarion  tones  to  one 
another,  across  the  din  and  fanfare,  and  to  com- 
pel answers  in  a  high  key.  Peter  took  a  constant 
succession  of  articles  to  the  shed,  where  packing 
was  going  on,  but  his  chief  treasures  were  de- 
posited in  a  basket  at  the  front  gate,  with  the 
idea  that  they  would  be  transported  as  his  per- 
sonal baggage.  The  pile  grew  and  grew :  a  woolly 
lamb,  two  Noah's  arks,  bottles  and  marbles  in- 
numerable, a  bag  of  pebbles,  a  broken  steam 
engine,  two  china  nest-eggs,  an  orange,  a  ba- 
nana and  some  walnuts,  a  fishing  line,  a  trowel, 
a  ball  of  string.  These  give  an  idea  of  the  qual- 
ity of  Peter's  effects,  but  not  of  the  quantity. 

Ellen  the  cook  labored  loyally,  for  it  was  her 
last  week's  work  with  the  family.  She  would  be 
left  behind,  like  Charlestown  and  all  the  old 
life,  when  Mother  Carey  and  the  stormy  petrels 
flitted  across  unknown  waters  from  one  haven 
to  another.  Joanna  having  earlier  proved  utterly 
unromantic  in  her  attitude,  Nancy  went  further 
with  Ellen  and  gave  her  an  English  novel  called 
"The  Merri weathers,"  in  which  an  old  family 
servant  had  not  only  followed  her  employers 
from  castle  to  hovel,  remaining  there  without 
wages  for  years,  but  had  insisted  on  lending  all 

85 


Mother  Carey's  Cbickens 


her  savings  to  the  Mistress  of  the  Manor.  Ellen 
the  cook  had  loved  "The  Merriweathers,"  say- 
ing it  was  about  the  best  book  that  ever  she  had 
read,  and  Miss  Nancy  would  like  to  know,  always 
being  so  interested,  that  she  (Ellen)  had  found 
a  place  near  Joanna  in  Salem,  where  she  was 
offered  five  dollars  a  month  more  than  she  had 
received  with  the  Careys.  Nancy  congratulated 
her  warmly  and  then,  tearing  "The  Merriwea- 
thers" to  shreds,  she  put  them  in  the  kitchen 
stove  in  Ellen's  temporary  absence.  "If  ever  I 
write  a  book,"  she  ejaculated,  as  she  "stoked" 
the  fire  with  Gwendolen  and  Reginald  Merri- 
weather,  with  the  Mistress  of  the  Manor,  and 
especially  with  the  romantic  family  servitor,  — 
"if  ever  I  write  a  book,"  she  repeated,  with 
emphatic  gestures,  "it  won't  have  any  fibs  in  it; 
—  and  I  suppose  it  will  be  dull,"  she  reflected, 
as  she  remembered  how  she  had  wept  when  the 
Merriweathers'  Bridget  brought  her  savings  of 
a  hundred  pounds  to  her  mistress  in  a  handker- 
chief. 

During  these  preparations  for  the  flitting 
Nancy  had  a  fresh  idea  every  minute  or  two, 
and  gained  immense  prestige  in  the  family. 

Inspired  by  her  eldest  daughter  Mrs.  Carey 
sold  her  grand  piano,  getting  an  old-fashioned 
square  one  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  ex- 

86 


The  Careys'  Flitting 


change.  It  had  been  a  wedding  present  from  a 
good  old  uncle,  who,  if  he  had  been  still  alive, 
would  have  been  glad  to  serve  his  niece  now  that 
she  was  in  difficulties. 

Nancy,  her  sleeves  rolled  up,  her  curly  hair 
flecked  with  dust  and  cobwebs,  flew  down  from 
the  attic  into  Kathleen's  room  just  after  supper. 
"I  have  an  idea!"  she  said  in  a  loud  whisper. 

"You  mustn't  have  too  many  or  we  shan't 
take^any  interest  in  them,"  Kitty  answered  pro- 
vokingly. 

"This  is  for  your  ears  alone,  Kitty!" 

"Oh!  that 's  different.   Tell  me  quickly." 

"It 's  an  idea  to  get  rid  of  the  Curse  of  the 
House  of  Carey!" 

"It  can't  be  done,  Nancy;  you  know  it  can't! 
Even  if  you  could  think  out  a  way,  mother 
could  n't  be  made  to  agree." 

"She  must  never  know.  I  would  not  think  of 
mixing  up  a  good  lovely  woman  like  mother  in 
such  an  affair!" 

This  was  said  so  mysteriously  that  Kathleen 
almost  suspected  that  bloodshed  was  included 
in  Nancy's  plan.  It  must  be  explained  that 
when  young  Ensign  Carey  and  Margaret  Gil- 
bert had  been  married,  Cousin  Ann  Chadwick 
had  presented  them  with  four  tall  black  and 
white   marble   mantel   ornaments   shaped   like 

87 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


funeral  urns;  and  then,  feeling  that  she  had  not 
yet  shown  her  approval  of  the  match  sufficiently, 
she  purchased  a  large  group  of  clay  statuary  en- 
titled You  Dirty  Boy. 

The  Careys  had  moved  often,  like  all  naval 
families,  but  even  when  their  other  goods  and 
chattels  were  stored,  Cousin  Ann  generously 
managed  to  defray  the  expense  of  sending  on 
to  them  the  mantel  ornaments  and  the  Dirty 
Boy.  "I  know  what  your  home  is  to  you,"  she 
used  to  say  to  them,  "and  how  you  must  miss 
your  ornaments.  If  I  have  chanced  to  give  you 
things  as  unwieldy  as  they  are  handsome,  I 
ought  to  see  that  you  have  them  around  you 
without  trouble  or  expense,  and  I  will ! " 

So  for  sixteen  years,  save  for  a  brief  respite 
when  the  family  was  in  the  Philippines,  their 
existence  was  blighted  by  these  hated  objects. 
Once  when  they  had  given  an  especially  beauti- 
ful party  for  the  Admiral,  Captain  Carey  had 
carried  the  whole  lot  to  the  attic,  but  Cousin 
Ann  arrived  unexpectedly  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  and  Nancy,  with  the  aid  of  Gilbert 
and  Joanna,  had  brought  them  down  the  back 
way  and  put  them  in  the  dining  room. 

"You've  taken  the  ornaments  out  of  the  par- 
lor, I  see,"  Cousin  Ann  said  at  the  dinner  table. 
"It's  rather  nice  for  a  change,  and  after  all,  per- 

88 


The  Careys'  Flitting 


haps  you  spend  as  much  time  in  this  room  as  in 
any,  and  entertain  as  much  company  here!" 

Cousin  Ann  always  had  been,  always  would 
be,  a  frequent  visitor,  for  she  was  devoted  to  the 
family  in  her  own  peculiar  way;  what  therefore 
could  Nancy  be  proposing  to  do  with  the  Carey 
Curse? 

"Listen,  my  good  girl,"  Nancy  now  said  to 
Kathleen,  after  she  had  closed  the  door.  "Thou 
dost  know  that  the  china-packer  comes  early 
to-morrow  morn,  and  that  e'en  now  the  barrels 
and  boxes  and  excelsior  are  bestrewing  the  din- 
ing room?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  you  and  I,  who  have  been  brought  up 
under  the  shadow  of  those  funeral  urns,  and 
have  seen  that  tidy  mother  scrubbing  the  ears  of 
that  unwilling  boy  ever  since  we  were  born,—  you 
and  I,  or  thou  and  I,  perhaps  I  should  say,  will 
do  a  little  private  packing  before  the  true  packer 
arriveth." 

"Still  do  I  not  see  the  point,  wench!"  said  the 
puzzled  Kathleen,  trying  to  model  her  conver- 
sation on  Nancy's,  though  she  was  never  thor- 
oughly successful. 

"Don't  call  me  ( wench,'  because  I  am  the  mis- 
tress and  you  my  tiring  woman,  but  when  you 
watch,  and  assist  me,  at  the  packing,  a  great 

89 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


light  will  break  upon  you,"  Nancy  answered. 
"In  the  removal  of  cherished  articles  from 
Charlestown  to  Beulah,  certain  tragedies  will 
occur,  certain  accidents  will  happen,  although 
Cousin  Ann  knows  that  the  Carey  family  is  a 
well  regulated  one.  But  if  there  are  accidents, 
and  there  will  be,  my  good  girl,  then  the  authors 
of  them  will  be  forever  unknown  to  all  but  thou 
and  I.  Wouldst  prefer  to  pack  this  midnight  or 
at  cock  crow,  for  packing  is  our  task ! " 

"I  simply  hate  cock  crow,  and  you  know  it," 
said  Kathleen  testily.  "Why  not  now?  Ellen 
and  Gilbert  are  out  and  mother  is  rocking  Peter 
to  sleep." 

"  Very  well ;  come  on ;  and  step  softly.  It  won't 
take  long,  because  I  have  planned  all  in  secret, 
well  and  thoroughly.  Don't  puff  and  blow  like 
that!  Mother  will  hear  you!" 

"I  'm  excited,"  whispered  Kathleen  as  they 
stole  down  the  back  stairs  and  went  into  the 
parlor  for  the  funeral  urns,  which  they  carried 
silently  to  the  dining  room.  These  safely  depos- 
ited, they  took  You  Dirty  Boy  from  its  abom- 
inable pedestal  of  Mexican  onyx  (also  Cousin 
Ann's  gift)  and  staggered  under  its  heavyweight, 
their  natural  strength  being  considerably  sapped 
by  suppressed  laughter. 

Nancy  chose  an  especially  large  and  stout  bar- 

90 


The  Careys'  Flitting 


rel.  They  put  a  little  (very  little)  excelsior  in 
the  bottom,  then  a  pair  of  dumb-bells,  then  a 
funeral  urn,  then  a  little  hay,  and  another  funeral 
urn,  crosswise.  The  spaces  between  were  care- 
lessly filled  in  with  Indian  clubs.  On  these  they 
painfully  dropped  You  Dirty  Boy,  and  on  top  of 
him  the  other  pair  of  funeral  urns,  more  dumb- 
bells, and  another  Indian  club.  They  had  packed 
the  barrel  in  the  corner  where  it  stood,  so  they 
simply  laid  the  cover  on  top  and  threw  a  piece  of 
sacking  carelessly  over  it.  The  whole  perform- 
ance had  been  punctuated  with  such  hysterical 
laughter  from  Kathleen  that  she  was  too  weak 
to  be  of  any  real  use,  —  she  simply  aided  and 
abetted  the  chief  conspirator.  The  night  was  not 
as  other  nights.  The  girls  kept  waking  up  to 
laugh  a  little,  then  they  went  to  sleep,  and  waked 
again,  and  laughed  again,  and  so  on.  Nancy  com- 
posed several  letters  to  her  Cousin  Ann  dated  from 
Beulah  and  explaining  the  sad  accident  that  had 
occurred.  As  she  concocted  these  documents  be- 
tween her  naps  she  could  never  remember  in  her 
whole  life  any  such  night  of  mirth  and  minstrelsy, 
and  not  one  pang  of  conscience  interfered,  to 
cloud  the  present  joy  nor  dim  that  anticipation 
which  is  even  greater. 

Nancy  was  downstairs  early  next  morning  and 
managed  to  be  the  one  to  greet  the  china-packers. 

91 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"  We  filled  one  barrel  last  evening,'5  she  explained 
to  them.  "Will  you  please  head  that  up  before 
you  begin  work?"  which  one  of  the  men  obli- 
gingly did. 

"We'll  mark  all  this  stuff  and  take  it  down  to 
the  station  this  afternoon,"  said  the  head  packer 
to  Mrs.  Carey. 

"Be  careful  with  it,  won't  you?"  she  begged. 
"We  are  very  fond  of  our  glass  and  china,  our 
clocks  and  all  our  little  treasures." 

"You  won't  have  any  breakage  so  long  as 
you  deal  with  James  Perkins  &  Co.!"  said  the 
packer. 

Nancy  went  back  into  the  room  for  a  moment 
to  speak  with  the  skilful,  virtuous  J.  P.  &  Co. 
"There's  no  need  to  use  any  care  with  that 
corner  barrel,"  she  said  carelessly.  "It  has  no- 
thing of  value  in  it!" 

James  Perkins  went  home  in  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon  and  left  his  son  to  finish  the  work,  and 
the  son  tagged  and  labelled  and  painted  with  all 
his  might.  The  Dirty  Boy  barrel  in  the  corner, 
being  separated  from  the  others,  looked  to  him 
especially  important,  so  he  gave  particular  at- 
tention to  that;  pasted  on  it  one  label  marked 
"Fragile,"  one  "This  Side  Up,"  two  "Glass  with 
Care,"  and  finding  several  "Perishables"  in  his 
pocket  tied  on  a  few  of  those,  and  removed  the 

92 


The  Careys'  Flitting 


entire  lot  of  boxes,  crates,  and  barrels  to  the 
freight  depot. 

The  man  who  put  the  articles  in  the  car 
was  much  interested  in  the  Dirty  Boy  barrel. 
"  You'd  ought  to  have  walked  to  Greentown  and 
carried  that  one  in  your  arms,"  he  jeered.  "  What 
is  the  precious  thing,  anyway?" 

"Don't  you  mind  what  it  is,"  responded 
young  Perkins.  "Jest  you  keep  everybody  'n' 
everything  from  teching  it !  Does  this  lot  o'  stuff 
have  to  be  shifted  'tween  here  and  Greentown." 

"No;  not  unless  we  git  kind  o'  dull  and  turn  it 
upside  down  jest  for  fun." 

"I  guess  you're  dull  consid'able  often,  by  the 
way  things  look  when  you  git  through  carryin' 
'em,  on  this  line,"  said  Perkins,  who  had  no 
opinion  of  the  freight  department  of  the  A.  &  B. 
The  answer,  though  not  proper  to  record  in  this 
place,  was  worthy  of  Perkins's  opponent,  who 
had  a  standing  grudge  against  the  entire  race  of 
expressmen  and  carters  who  brought  him  boxes 
and  barrels  to  handle.  It  always  seemed  to  him 
that  if  they  were  all  out  of  the  country  or  dead  he 
would  have  no  work  to  do. 


XI 

THE  SERVICE  ON  THE  THRESHOLD 

From  this  point  on,  the  flitting  went  easily  and 
smoothly  enough,  and  the  transportation  of  the 
Carey  family  itself  to  Greentown,  on  a  mild 
budding  day  in  April,  was  nothing  compared  to 
the  heavy  labor  that  had  preceded  it.  All  the 
goods  and  chattels  had  been  despatched  a  week 
before,  so  that  they  would  be  on  the  spot  well 
in  advance,  and  the  actual  flitting  took  place  on 
a  Friday,  so  that  Gilbert  would  have  every  hour 
of  his  vacation  to  assist  in  the  settling  process. 
He  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  visit  a  school 
friend  at  Easter,  saying  to  his  mother  magisteri- 
ally: "I  didn't  suppose  you'd  want  me  round 
the  house  when  you  were  getting  things  to 
rights;  men  are  always  in  the  way;  so  I  told  Fred 
Bascom  I'd  go  home  with  him." 

" Home  with  Fred !  Our  only  man!  Sole  prop 
of  the  House  of  Carey!"  exclaimed  his  mother 
with  consummate  tact.  "Why,  Gilly  dear,  I 
shall  want  your  advice  every  hour!  And  who 
will  know  about  the  planting,  —  for  we  are  only 
'  women  folks ' ;  and  who  will  do  all  the  hammer- 
ing and  carpenter  work?   You  are  so  wonderful 

94 


The  Service  on  the  Threshold 

with  tools  that  you  '11  be  worth  all  the  rest  of  us 
put  together!" 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  need  me  so  much  as  that  I'll 
go  along,  of  course,"  said  Gilbert,  "but  Fred 
said  his  mother  and  sisters  always  did  this  kind 
of  thing  by  themselves." 

"'By  themselves,'  in  Fred's  family,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Carey,  "means  a  butler,  footman, 
and  plenty  of  money  for  help  of  every  sort.  And 
though  no  wonder  you're  fond  of  Fred,  who  is  so 
jolly  and  such  good  company,  you  must  have 
noticed  how  selfish  he  is!" 

"Now,  mother,  you've  never  seen  Fred  Bas- 
com  more  than  half  a  dozen  times!" 

"No;  and  I  don't  remember  at  all  what  I  saw 
in  him  the  last  five  of  them,  for  I  found  out 
everything  needful  the  first  time  he  came  to 
visit  us!"  returned  Mrs.  Carey  quietly.  "Still, 
he's  a  likable,  agreeable  sort  of  boy." 

"And  no  doubt  he'll  succeed  in  destroying  the 
pig  in  him  before  he  grows  up,"  said  Nancy, 
passing  through  the  room.  "I  thought  it  gob- 
bled and  snuffled  a  good  deal  when  we  last 
met!" 

Colonel  Wheeler  was  at  Greentown  station 
when  the  family  arrived,  and  drove  Mrs.  Carey 
and  Peter  to  the  Yellow  House  himself,  while 
the  rest  followed  in  the  depot  carryall,  with  a 

95 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


trail  of  trunks  and  packages  following  on  behind 
in  an  express  wagon.  It  was  a  very  early  season, 
the  roads  were  free  from  mud,  the  trees  were 
budding,  and  the  young  grass  showed  green  on 
all  the  sunny  slopes.  When  the  Careys  had  first 
seen  their  future  home  they  had  entered  the  vil- 
lage from  the  west,  the  Yellow  House  being  the 
last  one  on  the  elm-shaded  street,  and- quite  on 
the  outskirts  of  Beulah  itself.  Now  they  crossed 
the  river  below  the  station  and  drove  through 
East  Beulah,  over  a  road  unknown  to  any  of 
them  but  Gilbert,  who  was  the  hero  and  in- 
structor of  the  party.  Soon  the  well-remembered 
house  came  into  view,  and  as  the  two  vehicles 
had  kept  one  behind  the  other  there  was  a 
general  cheer. 

It  was  more  beautiful  even  than  they  had 
remembered  it;  and  more  commodious,  and  more 
delightfully  situated.  The  barn  door  was  open, 
showing  crates  of  furniture,  and  the  piazza  was 
piled  high  with  boxes. 

Bill  Harmon  stood  in  the  front  doorway, 
smiling.  He  hoped  for  trade,  and  he  was  a  good 
sort  anyway. 

"I'd  about  given  you  up  to-night,"  he  called 
as  he  came  to  the  gate.  "Your  train's  half  an 
hour  late.  I  got  tired  o'  waitin',  so  I  made  free 
to  open  up  some  o'  your  things  for  you  to  start 

96 


The  Service  on  the  Threshold 

housekeepin'  with.  I  guess  there  won't  be  no 
supper  here  for  you  to-night." 

"We've  got  it  with  us,"  said  Nancy  joyously, 
making  acquaintance  in  an  instant. 

"You  are  forehanded,  ain't  you!  That's 
right!  —  jump,  you  little  pint  o'  cider!"  Bill 
said,  holding  out  his  arms  to  Peter.  Peter, 
carrying  many  small  things  too  valuable  to 
trust  to  others,  jumped,  as  suggested,  and  gave 
his  new  friend  an  unexpected  shower  of  bumps 
from  hard  substances  concealed  about  his 
person. 

"Land  o'  Goshen,  you're  loaded,  hain't  you?" 
he  inquired  jocosely  as  he  set  Peter  down  on  the 
ground. 

The  dazzling  smile  with  which  Peter  greeted 
this  supposed  tribute  converted  Bill  Harmon  at 
once  into  a  victim  and  slave.  Little  did  he  know, 
as  he  carelessly  stood  there  at  the  wagon  wheel, 
that  he  was  destined  to  bestow  upon  that  small 
boy  offerings  from  his  stock  for  years  to  come. 

He  and  Colonel  Wheeler  were  speedily  lift- 
ing things  from  the  carryall,  while  the  Careys 
walked  up  the  pathway  together,  thrilling  with 
the  excitement  of  the  moment.  Nancy  breathed 
hard,  flushed,  and  caught  her  mother's  hand. 

"O  Motherdy!"  she  said  under  her  breath; 
"it's  all  happening  just  as  we  dreamed  it,  and 

97 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


now  that  it 's  really  here  it 's  like  —  it 's  like  — 
a  dedication,  —  somehow.  Gilbert,  don't,  dear ! 
Let  mother  step  over  the  sill  first  and  call  us 
into  the  Yellow  House !  I  '11  lock  the  door  again 
and  give  the  key  to  her." 

Mother  Carey,  her  heart  in  her  throat,  felt 
anew  the  solemn  nature  of  the  undertaking.  It 
broke  over  her  in  waves,  fresher,  stronger,  now 
that  the  actual  moment  had  arrived,  than  it 
ever  had  done  in  prospect.  She  took  the  last 
step  upward,  and  standing  in  the  doorway, 
trembling,  said  softly  as  she  turned  the  key, 
" Come  home,  children !  Nancy!  Gilbert!  Kath- 
leen! Peter-bird!"  They  flocked  in,  all  their 
laughter  hushed  by  the  new  tone  in  her  voice. 
Nancy's  and  Kitty's  arms  encircled  their  mo- 
ther's waist.  Gilbert  with  sudden  instinct  took 
off  his  hat,  and  Peter,  looking  at  his  elder 
brother  wonderingly,  did  the  same.  There  was 
a  moment  of  silence;  the  kind  of  golden  silence 
that  is  full  to  the  brim  of  thoughts  and  prayers 
and|  memories  and  hopes  and  desires,  —  so  full 
of  all  these  and  other  beautiful,  quiet  things  that 
it  makes  speech  seem  poor  and  shabby;  then 
Mother  Carey  turned,  and  the  Yellow  House 
was  blessed.  Colonel  Wheeler  and  Bill  Harmon 
at  the  gate  never  even  suspected  that  there  had 
been  a  little  service  on  the  threshold,  when  they 

98 


The  Service  on  the  Threshold 

came  up  the  pathway  to  see  if  there  was  any- 
thing more  needed. 

"I  set  up  all  the  bedsteads  and  got  the  mat- 
tresses on  'em,"  said  Bill  Harmon,  "thinkm' 
the  sandman  would  come  early  to-night." 

"I  never  heard  of  anything  so  kind  and  neigh- 
borly ! "  cried  Mrs.  Carey  gratefully.  "  I  thought 
we  should  have  to  go  somewhere  else  to  sleep. 
Is  it  you  who  keeps  the  village  store?" 

"That's  me!"  said  Bill. 

"Well,  if  you'll  be  good  enough  to  come  back 
once  more  to-night  with  a  little  of  everything, 
we'll  be  very  much  obliged.  We  have  an  oil 
stove,  tea  and  coffee,  tinned  meats,  bread  and 
fruit;  what  we  need  most  is  butter,  eggs,  milk, 
and  flour.  Gilbert,  open  the  box  of  eatables, 
please;  and,  Nancy,  unlock  the  trunk  that  has 
the  bed  linen  in  it.  We  little  thought  we  should 
find  such  friends  here,  did  we?" 

"I  got  your  extension  table  into  the  dining- 
room,"  said  Bill,  "and  tried  my  best  to  find  your 
dishes,  but  I  didn't  make  out,  up  to  the  time 
you  got  here.  Mebbe  you  marked  'em  someway 
so't  you  know  which  to  unpack  first?  I  was 
only  findin'  things  that  wan't  no  present  use,  as  I 
guess  you  '11  say  when  you  see  'em  on  the  dining 
table." 

They  all  followed  him  as  he  threw  open  the 
99 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


door,  Nancy  well  in  the  front,  as  I  fear  was  gen- 
erally the  case.  There  on  the  centre  of  the  table 
stood  You  Dirty  Boy  rearing  his  crested  head 
in  triumph,  and  round  him  like  the  gate  posts 
of  a  mausoleum  stood  the  four  black  and  white 
marble  funeral  urns.  Perfect  and  entire,  without 
a  flaw,  they  stood  there,  confronting  Nancy. 

"It  is  like  them  to  be  the  first  to  greet  us!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Carey,  with  an  attempt  at  a 
smile,  but  there  was  not  a  sound  from  Kathleen 
or  Nancy.  They  stood  rooted  to  the  floor,  gazing 
at  the  Curse  of  the  House  of  Carey  as  if  their 
eyes  must  deceive  them. 

"You  look  as  though  you  did  n't  expect  to  see 
them,  girls!"  said  their  mother,  "but  when  did 
they  ever  fail  us?  —  Do  you  know,  I  have  a  cour- 
age at  this  moment  that  I  never  felt  before? 
—  Beulah  is  so  far  from  Buffalo  that  Cousin 
Ann  cannot  visit  us  often,  and  never  without 
warning.  I  should  not  like  to  offend  her  or  hurt 
her  feelings,  but  I  think  we'll  keep  You  Dirty 
Boy  and  the  mantel  ornaments  in  the  attic  for 
the  present,  or  the  barn  chamber.  What  do  you 
say?" 

Colonel  Wheeler  and  Mr.  Harmon  had  de- 
parted, so  a  shout  of  agreement  went  up  from 
the  young  Careys.  Nancy  approached  You 
Dirty  Boy  with  a  bloodthirsty  glare  in  her  eye. 

100 


The  Service  on  the  Threshold 

"Come  along,  you  evil,  uncanny  thing !"  she 
said.  "Take  hold  of  his  other  end,  Gilly,  and 
start  for  the  barn;  that's  farthest  away;  but  it's 
no  use;  he's  just  like  that  bloodstain  on  Lady 
Maebeth's  hand,  —  he  will  not  out !  Kathleen, 
open  the  linen  trunk  while  we  're  gone.  We  can't 
set  the  table  till  these  curses  are  removed. 
When  you've  got  the  linen  out,  take  a  marble 
urn  in  each  hand  and  trail  them  along  to  where 
we  are.  You  can  track  us  by  a  line  of  my  tears ! " 

They  found  the  stairs  to  the  barn  chamber, 
and  lifted  You  Dirty  Boy  up  step  by  step  with 
slow,  painful  effort.  Kathleen  ran  out  and  put 
two  vases  on  the  lowest  step  and  ran  back  to  the 
house  for  the  other  pair.  Gilbert  and  Nancy 
stood  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  with  You  Dirty 
Boy  between  them,  settling  where  he  could  be 
easiest  reached  if  he  had  to  be  brought  down 
for  any  occasion,  —  an  unwelcome  occasion  that 
was  certain  to  occur  sometime  in  the  coming 
years. 

Suddenly  they  heard  their  names  called  in  a 
tragic  whisper !  "Gilbert!  Nancy!  Quick!  Cousin 
Ann  's  at  the  front  gate!" 

There  was  a  crash !  No  human  being,  however 
self-contained,  could  have  withstood  the  shock 
of  that  surprise;  coming  as  it  did  so  swiftly,  so 
unexpectedly,  and  with  such  awful  inappropri- 

101 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ateness.  Gilbert  and  Nancy  let  go  of  You  Dirty 
Boy  simultaneously,  and  he  fell  to  the  floor  in 
two  large  fragments,  the  break  occurring  so 
happily  that  the  mother  and  the  washcloth  were 
on  one  half,  and  the  boy  on  the  other,  —  a  sit- 
uation long  desired  by  the  boy,  to  whom  the 
parting  was  most  welcome! 

"She  got  off  at  the  wrong  station,"  panted 
Kathleen  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  "and  had  to 
be  driven  five  miles,  or  she  would  have  got  here 
as  she  planned,  an  hour  before  we  did.  She's 
come  to  help  us  settle,  and  says  she  was  afraid 
mother  would  overdo.  Did  you  drop  anything? 
Hurry  down,  and  I'll  leave  the  vases  here,  in 
among  the  furniture;  or  shall  I  take  back  two  of 
them  to  show  that  they  were  our  first  thought? 
—  And  oh !  I  forgot.  She 's  brought  Julia !  Two 
more  to  feed,  and  not  enough  beds!" 

Nancy  and  Gilbert  confronted  each  other. 

"Hide  the  body  in  the  corner,  Gilly,"  said 
Nancy;  "and  say,  Gilly — " 

"Yes,  what?" 

"You  see  he's  in  two  pieces?" 

"Yes." 

' 'What  do  you  say  to  making  him  four,  or 
more?" 

"I  say  you  go  downstairs  ahead  of  me  and 
into  the  house,  and  I  follow  you  a  moment  later! 

102 


The  Service  on  the  Threshold 

Close  the  barn  door  carefully  behind  you !  — - 
Am  I  understood?" 

"You  are,  Gilly!  understood,  and  gloried  in, 
and  reverenced.  My  spirit  will  be  with  you  when 
you  do  it,  Gilly  dear,  though  I  myself  will  be 
greeting  Cousin  Ann  and  Julia!" 


XII 

COUSIN  ANN 

Mother  Carey,  not  wishing  to  make  any  larger 
number  of  persons  uncomfortable  than  neces- 
sary, had  asked  Julia  not  to  come  to  them  until 
after  the  house  in  Beulah  had  been  put  to  rights; 
but  the  Fergusons  went  abroad  rather  unex- 
pectedly, and  Mr.  Ferguson  tore  Julia  from  the 
arms  of  Gladys  and  put  her  on  the  train  with 
very  little  formality.  Her  meeting  Cousin  Ann 
on  the  way  was  merely  one  of  those  unpleasant 
coincidences  with  which  life  is  filled,  although 
it  is  hardly  possible,  usually,  for  two  such  dis- 
agreeable persons  to  be  on  the  same  small  spot 
at  the  same  precise  moment. 

On  the  third  morning  after  the  Careys' 
arrival,  however,  matters  assumed  a  more  hope- 
ful attitude,  for  Cousin  Ann  became  discontented 
with  Beulah.  The  weather  had  turned  cold,  and 
the  fireplaces,  so  long  unused,  were  uniformly 
smoky.  Cousin  Ann's  stomach,  always  delicate, 
turned  from  tinned  meats,  eggs  three  times  a 
day,  and  soda  biscuits  made  by  Bill  Harmon's 
wife;  likewise  did  it  turn  from  nuts,  apples, 
oranges,  and  bananas,  on  which  the  children 

104 


Cousin  Ann 


thrived;  so  she  went  to  the  so-called  hotel  for 
her  meals.  Her  remarks  to  the  landlady  after 
two  dinners  and  one  supper  were  of  a  character 
not  to  be  endured  by  any  outspoken,  free-born 
New  England  woman. 

"I  keep  a  hotel,  and  I'll  give  you  your  meals 
for  twenty-five  cents  apiece  so  long  as  you  eat 
what's  set  before  you  and  hold  your  tongue," 
was  the  irate  Mrs.  Buck's  ultimatum.  "I'll  feed 
you,"  she  continued  passionately,  "because  it's 
my  business  to  put  up  and  take  in  anything 
that's  respectable;  but  I  won't  take  none  o'  your 
sass!" 

Well,  Cousin  Ann's  temper  was  up,  too,  by 
this  time,  and  she  declined  on  her  part  to  take 
any  of  the  landlady's  "sass";  so  they  parted, 
rather  to  Mrs.  Carey's  embarrassment,  as  she 
did  not  wish  to  make  enemies  at  the  outset. 
That  night  Cousin  Ann,  still  smarting  under  the 
memory  of  Mrs.  Buck's  snapping  eyes,  high 
color,  and  unbridled  tongue,  complained  after 
supper  that  her  bedstead  rocked  whenever  she 
moved,  and  asked  Gilbert  if  he  could  readjust 
it  in  some  way,  so  that  it  should  be  as  stationary 
as  beds  usually  are  in  a  normal  state. 

He  took  his  tool  basket  and  went  upstairs 
obediently,  spending  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes 
with   the   much-criticised  article  of  furniture, 

105 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


which  he  suspected  of  rocking  merely  because 
it  could  n't  bear  Cousin  Ann.  This  idea  so  de- 
lighted Nancy  that  she  was  obliged  to  retire  from 
Gilbert's  proximity,  lest  the  family  should  ob- 
serve her  mirth  and  Gilbert's  and  impute  undue 
importance  to  it. 

"I've  done  everything  to  the  bedstead  I  can 
think  of,"  Gilbert  said,  on  coming  downstairs. 
"You  can  see  how  it  works  to-night,  Cousin 
Ann!" 

As  a  matter  of  fact  it  did  work,  instead  of 
remaining  in  perfect  quiet  as  a  well-bred  bed- 
stead should.  When  the  family  was  sound  asleep 
at  midnight  a  loud  crash  was  heard,  and  Cousin 
Ann,  throwing  open  the  door  of  her  room,  speed- 
ily informed  everybody  in  the  house  that  her 
bed  had  come  down  with  her,  giving  her  nerves 
a  shock  from  which  they  probably  would  never 
recover. 

"Gilbert  is  far  too  young  for  the  responsibili- 
ties you  put  upon  him,  Margaret,"  Cousin  Ann 
exclaimed,  drawing  her  wrapper  more  closely 
over  her  tall  spare  figure;  "and  if  he  was  as  old 
as  Methuselah  he  would  still  be  careless,  for  he 
was  born  so !  All  this  talk  about  his  being  skil- 
ful with  tools  has  only  swollen  his  vanity.  A 
boy  of  his  age  should  be  able  to  make  a  bed- 
stead stay  together." 

106 


Cousin  Ann 


The  whole  family,  including  the  crestfallen 
Gilbert,  proposed  various  plans  of  relief,  all  ex- 
cept Nancy,  who  did  not  wish  to  meet  Gilbert's 
glance  for  fear  that  she  should  have  to  suspect 
him  of  a  new  crime.  Having  embarked  on  a  ca- 
reer of  villany  under  her  direct  instigation,  he 
might  go  on  of  his  own  accord,  indefinitely.  She 
did  not  believe  him  guilty,  but  she  preferred 
not  to  look  into  the  matter  more  closely. 

Mother  Carey's  eyes  searched  Gilbert's,  but 
found  there  no  confirmation  of  her  fears. 

"  You  need  n't  look  at  me  like  that,  mother," 
said  the  boy.  "  I  would  n't  be  so  mean  as  to  rig 
up  an  accident  for  Cousin  Ann,  though  I'd  like 
her  to  have  a  little  one  every  night,  just  for  the 
fun  of  it." 

Cousin  Ann  refused  to  let  Gilbert  try  again  on 
the  bedstead,  and  refused  part  of  Mrs.  Carey's 
bed,  preferring  to  sleep  on  two  hair  mattresses 
laid  on  her  bedroom  floor.  "They  may  not  be 
comfortable,"  she  said  tersely,  "but  at  least 
they  will  not  endanger  my  life." 

The  next  morning's  post  brought  business 
letters,  and  Cousin  Ann  feared  she  would  have 
to  leave  Beulah,  although  there  was  work  for 
a  fortnight  to  come,  right  there,  and  Margaret 
had  not  strength  enough  to  get  through  it  alone. 

She  thought  the  chimneys  were  full  of  soot, 
107 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


and  did  n't  believe  the  kitchen  stove  would  ever 
draw;  she  was  sure  that  there  were  dead  toads 
and  frogs  in  the  well ;  the  house  was  inconvenient 
and  always  would  be  till  water  was  brought  into 
the  kitchen  sink;  Julia  seemed  to  have  no  lean- 
ing towards  housework  and  had  an  appetite  that 
she  could  only  describe  as  a  crime,  inasmuch  as 
the  wherewithal  to  satisfy  it  had  to  be  purchased 
by  others;  the  climate  was  damp  because  of  the 
river,  and  there  was  no  proper  market  within 
eight  miles;  Kathleen  was  too  delicate  to  live  in 
such  a  place,  and  the  move  from  Charlestown 
was  an  utter  and  absolute  and  entire  mistake 
from  A  to  Z. 

Then  she  packed  her  small  trunk  and  Gilbert 
ran  to  the  village  on  glad  and  winged  feet  to  get 
some  one  to  take  his  depressing  relative  to  the 
noon  train  to  Boston.  As  for  Nancy,  she  stood 
in  front  of  the  parlor  fireplace,  and  when  she 
heard  the  hoot  of  the  engine  in  the  distance  she 
removed  the  four  mortuary  vases  from  the  man- 
telpiece and  took  them  to  the  attic,  while  Gil- 
bert from  the  upper  hall  was  chanting  a  favorite 
old  rhyme:  — 

"  She  called  us  names  till  she  was  tired, 
She  called  ^.s  names  till  we  perspired, 
She  called  us  names  we  never  could  spell, 
She  called  us  names  we  never  may  tell. 
108 


Cousin  Ann 


She  called  us  names  that  made  us  laugh, 
She  called  us  names  for  a  day  and  a  half, 
She  called  us  names  till  her  memory  failed, 
But  finally  out  of  our  sight  she  sailed." 


a 


It  must  have  been  written  about  Cousin 
Ann  in  the  first  place,"  said  Nancy,  joining 
Kathleen  in  the  kitchen.  "Well,  she's  gone  at 
last! 

"  Now  every  prospect  pleases, 
And  only  JuhVs  vile,'* 

she  paraphrased  from  the  old  hymn,  into  Kath- 
leen's private  ear. 

"You  oughtn't  to  say  such  things,  Nancy," 
rebuked  Kathleen.    "Mother  would  n't  like  it." 

"I  know  it,"  confessed  Nancy  remorsefully. 
"I  have  been  wicked  since  the  moment  I  tried 
to  get  rid  of  You  Dirty  Boy.  I  don't  know  what 's 
the  matter  with  me.  My  blood  seems  to  be  too 
red,  and  it  courses  wildly  through  my  veins,  as 
the  books  say.  I  am  going  to  turn  over  a  new 
leaf,  now  that  Cousin  Ann 's  gone  and  our  only 
cross  is  Julia ! " 

Oh !  but  it  is  rather  dreadful  to  think  how  one 
person  can  spoil  the  world!  If  only  you  could 
have  seen  the  Yellow  House  after  Cousin  Ann 
went!  If  only  you  could  have  heard  the  hotel 
landlady  exclaim  as  she  drove  past:  "Well! 
Good  riddance  to  bad  rubbish!"    The  weather 

109 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


grew  warmer  outside  almost  at  once,  and  Bill 
Harmon's  son  planted  the  garden.  The  fire- 
places ceased  to  smoke  and  the  kitchen  stove 
drew.  Colonel  Wheeler  suggested  a  new  chain 
pump  instead  of  the  old  wooden  one,  after  which 
the  water  took  a  turn  f  :r  the  better,  and  before 
the  month  was  ended  the  Yellow  House  began 
to  look  like  home,  notwithstanding  Julia. 

As  for  Beulah  village,  after  its  sleep  of  months 
under  deep  snow-drifts  it  had  waked  into  the 
adorable  beauty  of  an  early  New  England  sum- 
mer. It  had  no  snow-capped  mountains  in  the 
distance;  no  amethyst  foothills  to  enchain  the 
eye;  no  wonderful  canons  and  splendid  rocky 
passes  to  make  the  tourist  marvel;  no  length  of 
yellow  sea  sands  nor  plash  of  ocean  surf;  no 
trade,  no  amusements,  no  summer  visitors;  — 
it  was  just  a  quiet,  little,  sunny,  verdant,  leafy 
piece  of  heart's  content,  that 's  what  Beulah  was, 
and  Julia  couldn't  spoil  it;  indeed,  the  odds  were, 
that  it  would  sweeten  Julia!  That  was  what 
Mother  Carey  hoped  when  her  heart  had  an 
hour's  leisure  to  drift  beyond  Shiny  Wall  into 
Peacepool  and  consider  the  needs  of  her  five 
children.  It  was  generally  at  twilight,  when  she 
was  getting  Peter  to  sleep,  that  she  was  busiest 
making  "old  beasts  into  new." 

"People  fancy  that  I  make  things,  my  little 
110 


Cousin  Ann 


dear/'  says  Mother  Carey  to  Tom  the  Water 
Baby,  "but  I  sit  here  and  make  them  make 
themselves!" 

There  was  once  a  fairy,  so  the  tale  goes,  who 
was  so  clever  that  she  found  out  how  to  make 
butterflies,  and  she  was  so  proud  that  she  flew 
straight  off  to  Peacepool  to  boast  to  Mother 
Carey  of  her  skill. 

But  Mother  Carey  laughed. 

"Know,  silly  child,"  she  said,  "that  any  one 
can  make  things  if  he  will  take  time  and  trouble 
enough,  but  it  is  not  every  one  who  can  make 
things  make  themselves." 

"Make  things  make  themselves!"  Mother 
Carey  used  to  think  in  the  twilight.  "I  suppose 
that  is  what  mothers  are  for!" 

Nancy  was  making  herself  busily  these  days, 
and  the  offending  Julia  was  directly  responsible 
for  such  self-control  and  gains  in  general  virtue 
as  poor  impetuous  Nancy  achieved.  Kathleen 
was  growing  stronger  and  steadier  and  less  self- 
conscious.  Gilbert  was  doing  better  at  school, 
and  his  letters  showed  more  consideration  and 
thought  for  the  family  than  they  had  done  here- 
tofore. Even  the  Peter-bird  was  a  little  sweeter 
and  more  self -helpful  just  now,  thought  Mother 
Carey  fondly,  as  she  rocked  him  to  sleep.  He 
was  worn  out  with  following  Natty  Harmon  at 

111 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


the  plough,  and  succumbed  quickly  to  the  music 
of  her  good-night  song  and  the  comfort  of  her 
sheltering  arms.  Mother  Carey  had  arms  to 
carry,  arms  to  enfold,  arms  to  comfort  and  ca- 
ress. She  also  had  a  fine,  handsome,  strong  hand 
admirable  for  spanking,  but  she  had  so  many 
invisible  methods  of  discipline  at  her  command 
that  she  never  needed  a  visible  spanker  for  Peter. 
"Spanking  is  all  very  well  in  its  poor  way,"  she 
used  to  say,  "but  a  woman  who  has  to  fall  back 
on  it  very  often  is  sadly  lacking  in  ingenuity." 

As  she  lifted  Peter  into  his  crib  Nancy  came 
softly  in  at  the  door  with  a  slip  of  paper  in  her 
hand. 

She  drew  her  mother  out  to  the  window  over 
the  front  door.  "Listen,"  she  said.  "Do  you 
hear  the  frogs?" 

"I've  been  listening  to  them  for  the  last  half- 
hour,"  her  mother  said.  "Is  n't  everything 
sweet  to-night,  with  the  soft  air  and  the  elms 
all  feathered  out,  and  the  new  moon!" 

"Was  it  ever  so  green  before?"  Nancy  won- 
dered, leaning  over  the  window-sill  by  her 
mother's  side.  "Were  the  trees  ever  so  lace-y? 
Was  any  river  ever  so  clear,  or  any  moon  so 
yellow?  I  am  so  sorry  for  the  city  people  to- 
night !  Sometimes  I  think  it  can't  be  so  beautiful 
here  as  it  looks,  mother.    Sometimes  I  wonder 

112 


Cousin  Ann 


if  part  of  the  beauty  isn't  inside  of  us!"  said 
Nancy. 

"Part  of  all  beauty  is  in  the  eyes  that  look  at 
it,"  her  mother  answered. 

"And  I've  been  reading  Mrs.  Harmon's  new 
reference  Bible,"  Nancy  continued,  "and  here 
is  what  it  says  about  Beulah." 

She  held  the  paper  to  the  waning  light  and 
read:  "Thou  shalt  no  more  be  termed  Forsaken, 
neither  shall  thy  land  any  more  be  termed  Desolate 
.  .  .  but  it  shall  be  called  Beulah,  for  the  Lord 
delighteth  in  thee. 

"I  think  father  would  be  comforted  if  he 
could  see  us  all  in  the  Yellow  House  at  Beulah!" 
Nancy  went  on  softly  as  the  two  leaned  out  of 
theT  window  together.  "He  was  so  loving,  so 
careful  of  us,  so  afraid  that  anything  should 
trouble  us,  that  for  months  I  could  n't  think  of 
him,  even  in  heaven,  as  anything  but  worried. 
But  now  it  seems  just  as  if  we  were  over  the 
hardest  time  and  could  learn  to  live  here  in 
Beulah;  and  so  he  must  be  comforted  if  he  can 
see  us  or  think  about  us  at  all;  —  don't  you  feel 
like  that,  mother?" 

Yes,  her  mother  agreed  gently,  and  her  heart 
was  grateful  and  full  of  hope.  She  had  lost  the 
father  of  her  children  and  the  dear  companion 
of  her  life,  and  that  loss  could  never  be  made 

113 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


good.  Still  her  mind  acknowledged  the  riches 
she  possessed  in  her  children,  so  she  confessed 
herself  neither  desolate  nor  forsaken,  but  some- 
thing in  a  humble  human  way  that  the  Lord 
could  take  delight  in. 


XIII 

THE  PINK  OF  PERFECTION 

That  was  the  only  trouble  with  Allan  Carey's 
little  daughter  Julia,  aged  thirteen;  she  was,  and 
always  had  been,  the  pink  of  perfection.  As  a 
baby  she  had  always  been  exemplary,  eating 
heartily  and  sleeping  soundly.  When  she  felt 
a  pin  in  her  flannel  petticoat  she  deemed  it  dis- 
courteous to  cry,  because  she  knew  that  her 
nurse  had  at  least  tried  to  dress  her  properly. 
When  awake,  her  mental  machinery  moved 
slowly  and  without  any  jerks.  As  to  her  moral 
machinery,  the  angels  must  have  set  it  going  at 
birth  and  planned  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  could 
neither  stop  nor  go  wrong.  It  was  well  meant, 
of  course,  but  probably  the  angels  who  had  the 
matter  in  charge  were  new,  young,  inexperi- 
enced angels,  with  vague  ideas  of  human  nature 
and  inexact  knowledge  of  God's  intentions;  be- 
cause a  child  that  has  no  capability  of  doing 
the  wrong  thing  will  hardly  be  able  to  manage  a 
right  one;  not  one  of  the  big  sort,  anyway. 

At  four  or  five  years  old  Julia  was  always 
spoken  of  as  "such  a  good  little  girl."  Many  a 
time  had  Nancy  in  early  youth  stamped  her  foot 

115 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


and  cried:  "Don't  talk  about  Julia!  I  will  not 
hear  about  Julia!"  for  she  was  always  held  upas 
a  pattern  of  excellence.  Truth  to  tell  she  bored 
her  own  mother  terribly;  but  that  is  not  strange, 
for  by  a  curious  freak  of  nature,  Mrs.  Allan 
Carey  was  as  flighty  and  capricious  and  irre- 
sponsible and  gay  and  naughty  as  Julia  was 
steady,  limited,  narrow,  conventional,  and  dull; 
but  the  flighty  mother  passed  out  of  the  Carey 
family  life,  and  Julia,  from  the  age  of  five  on- 
ward, fell  into  the  charge  of  a  pious,  unimagina- 
tive governess,  instead  of  being  turned  out  to 
pasture  with  a  lot  of  frolicsome  young  human 
creatures;  so  at  thirteen  she  had  apparently 
settled  —  hard,  solid,  and  firm  —  into  a  mould. 
She  had  smooth  fair  hair,  pale  blue  eyes,  thin 
lips,  and  a  somewhat  too  plump  shape  for  her 
years.  She  was  always  tidy  and  wore  her  clothes 
well,  laying  enormous  stress  upon  their  mate- 
rial and  style,  this  trait  in  her  character  having 
been  added  under  the  fostering  influence  of  the 
wealthy  and  fashionable  Gladys  Ferguson.  At 
thirteen,  when  Julia  joined  the  flock  of  Carey 
chickens,  she  had  the  air  of  belonging  to  quite 
another  order  of  beings.  They  had  been  through 
a  discipline  seldom  suffered  by  "only  children." 
They  had  had  to  divide  apples  and  toys,  take 
turns  at  reading  books,  and  learn  generally  to 

116 


The  Pink  op  Perfection 


trot  in  double  harness.  If  Nancy  had  a  new 
dress  at  Christmas,  Kathleen  had  a  new  hat 
in  the  spring.  Gilbert  heard  the  cry  of  "Low 
bridge!"  very  of  ten  after  Kathleen  appeared  on 
the  scene,  and  Kathleen's  ears,  too,  grew  well 
accustomed  to  the  same  phrase  after  Peter  was 
born. 

"Julia  never  did  a  naughty  thing  in  her  life, 
nor  spoke  a  wrong  word,"  said  her  father  once, 
proudly. 

"Never  mind,  she's  only  ten,  and  there's 
hope  for  her  yet,"  Captain  Carey  had  replied 
cheerfully;  though  if  he  had  known  her  a  little 
later,  in  her  first  Beulah  days,  he  might  not  have 
been  so  sanguine.  She  seemed  to  have  no  in- 
stinct of  adapting  herself  to  the  family  life, 
standing  just  a  little  aloof  and  in  an  attitude 
of  silent  criticism.  She  was  a  trig,  smug  prig, 
Nancy  said,  delighting  in  her  accidental  muster  of 
three  short,  hard,  descriptive  words.  She  had  n't 
a  bit  of  humor,  no  fun,  no  gayety,  no  generous 
enthusiasms  that  carried  her  too  far  for  safety 
or  propriety.  She  brought  with  her  to  Beulah 
sheaves  of  school  certificates,  and  when  she 
showed  them  to  Gilbert  with  their  hundred  per 
cent  deportment  and  ninety-eight  and  seven- 
eighths  per  cent  scholarship  every  month  for 
years,  he  went  out  behind  the  barn  and  kicked 

117 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


its  foundations  savagely  for  several  minutes. 
She  was  a  sort  of  continual  Sunday  child,  with 
an  air  of  church  and  cold  dinner  and  sermon- 
reading  and  hymn-singing  and  early  bed.  No- 
body could  fear,  as  for  some  impulsive,  reckless 
little  creature,  that  she  would  come  to  a  bad 
end.  Nancy  said  no  one  could  imagine  her  as 
coming  to  anything,  not  even  an  end ! 

"You  never  let  mother  hear  you  say  these 
things,  Nancy,"  Kathleen  remarked  once,  "but 
really  and  truly  it's  just  as  bad  to  say  them  at 
all,  when  you  know  she  would  n't  approve." 

"My  present  object  is  to  be  as  good  as  goW 
in  mother's  eyes,  but  there  I  stop!"  retorted 
Nancy  cheerfully.  "Pretty  soon  I  shall  get 
virtuous  enough  to  go  a  step  further  and  en- 
deavor to  please  the  angels,  —  not  Julia's  cast- 
iron  angels,  but  the  other  angels,  who  understand 
and  are  patient,  because  they  remember  our 
frames  and  know  that  being  dust  we  are  likely 
to  be  dusty  once  in  a  while.  Julia  was  n't  made 
of  dust.  She  was  made  of  —  let  me  see  —  of 
skim  milk  and  baked  custard  (the  watery  kind) 
and  rice  flour  and  gelatine,  with  a  very  little 
piece  of  overripe  banana,  —  not  enough  to 
flavor,  just  enough  to  sicken.  Stir  this  up  with 
weak  barley  water  without  putting  in  a  trace 
of  salt,  sugar,  spice,  or  pepper,  set  it  in  a  cool 

118 


The  Pink  of  Perfection 


oven,  take  it  out  before  it  is  done,  and  you  will 
get  Julia." 

Nancy  was  triumphant  over  this  recipe  for 
making  Julias,  only  regretting  that  she  could 
never  show  it  to  her  mother,  who,  if  critical, 
was  always  most  appreciative.  She  did  send  it 
in  a  letter  to  the  Admiral,  off  in  China,  and  he, 
being  "none  too  good  for  human  nature's  daily 
food,"  enjoyed  it  hugely  and  never  scolded  her 
at  all. 

Julia's  only  conversation  at  this  time  was  on 
matters  concerning  Gladys  Ferguson  and  the 
Ferguson  family.  When  you  are  washing  dishes 
in  the  sink  of  the  Yellow  House  in  Beulah  it  is 
very  irritating  to  hear  of  Gladys  Ferguson's  mo- 
ther-of-pearl opera  glasses,  her  French  maid,  her 
breakfast  on  a  tray  in  bed,  her  diamond  ring,  her 
photograph  in  the  Sunday  "Times,"  her  travels 
abroad,  her  proficiency  in  French  and  German. 

"Don't  trot  Gladys  into  the  kitchen,  for  good- 
ness' sake,  Julia!"  grumbled  Nancy  on  a  warm 
day.  "I  don't  want  her  diamond  ring  in  my 
dishwater.  Wait  till  Sunday,  when  we  go  to  the 
hotel  for  dinner  in  our  best  clothes,  if  you  must 
talk  about  her.  You  don't  wipe  the  tumblers 
dry,  nor  put  them  in  the  proper  place,  when  your 
mind  is  full  of  Gladys!" 

"All  right!"  said  Julia  gently.   "Only  I  hope 
119 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


I  shall  always  be  able  to  wipe  dishes  and  keep 
my  mind  on  better  things  at  the  same  time. 
That 's  what  Miss  Tewksbury  told  me  when  she 
knew  I  had  got  to  give  up  my  home  luxuries  for 
a  long  time.  '  Don't  let  poverty  drag  you  down, 
Julia,'  she  said:  'keep  your  high  thoughts  and 
don't  let  them  get  soiled  with  the  grime  of  daily 
living.'" 

It  is  only  just  to  say  that  Nancy  was  not  abso- 
lutely destitute  of  self-control  and  politeness, 
because  at  this  moment  she  had  a  really  vicious 
desire  to  wash  Julia's  supercilious  face  and  neat 
nose  with  the  dishcloth,  fresh  from  the  frying 
pan.  She  knew  that  she  could  not  grasp  those  ir- 
ritating "high  thoughts"  and  apply  the  grime  of 
daily  living  to  them  concretely  and  actually,  but 
Julia's  face  was  within  her  reach,  and  Nancy's 
fingers  tingled  with  desire.  No  trace  of  this 
savage  impulse  appeared  in  her  behavior,  how- 
ever; she  rinsed  the  dishpan,  turned  it  upside 
down  in  the  sink,  and  gave  the  wiping  towels  to 
Julia,  asking  her  to  wring  them  out  in  hot  water 
and  hang  them  on  the  barberry  bushes,  accord- 
ing to  Mrs.  Carey's  instructions. 

"It  does  n't  seem  as  if  I  could!"  whimpered 
Julia.  "I  have  always  been  so  sensitive,  and 
dish  towels  are  so  disgusting!  They  do  smell, 
Nancy!" 

120 


The  Pink  of  Perfection 


"They  do,"  said  Nancy  sternly,  "but  they 
will  smell  worse  if  they  are  not  washed!  I  give 
you  the  dish -wiping  and  take  the  washing,  just 
to  save  your  hands,  but  you  must  turn  and  turn 
about  with  Kathleen  and  me  with  some  of  the 
ugly,  hateful  things.  If  you  were  company  of 
course  wTe  could  n't  let  you,  but  you  are  a  mem- 
ber of  the  family.  Our  principal  concern  must 
be  to  keep  mother's  'high  thoughts'  from  grime; 
ours  must  just  take  their  chance!" 

Oh!  how  Julia  disliked  Nancy  at  this  epoch 
in  their  common  history ;  and  how  cordially  and 
vigorously  the  dislike  was  returned!  Many  an 
unhappy  moment  did  Mother  Carey  have  over 
the  feud,  mostly  deep  and  silent,  that  went  on 
between  these  two;  and  Gilbert's  attitude  was 
not  much  more  hopeful.  He  had  found  a  time- 
table or  syllabus  for  the  day's  doings,  over 
Julia's  washstand.  It  had  been  framed  under 
Miss  Tewksbury's  guidance,  who  knew  Julia's 
unpunctuality  and  lack  of  system,  and  read  as 
follows :  — 

Syllabus 

Rise  at  6.45. 
Bathe  and  dress. 
Devotional  Exercises  7.15. 
Breakfast  7.45. 
Household  tasks  till  9. 

121 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Exercise  out  of  doors  9  to  10. 

Study  10  to  12. 

Preparations  for  dinner  12  to  1. 

Recreation  2  to  4. 

Study  4  to  5. 

Preparation  for  supper  5  to  6. 

Wholesome  reading,  walking,  or 

conversation  7  to  8. 
Devotional  exercises  9. 
Bed  9.30. 

There  was  nothing  wrong  about  this;  indeed, 
it  was  excellently  conceived;  still  it  appeared  to 
Gilbert  as  excessively  funny,  and  with  Nancy's 
help  he  wrote  another  syllabus  and  tacked  it 
over  Julia's  bureau. 

Time  Card 

On  waking  I  can 

Pray  for  Gilly  and  Nan; 

Eat  breakfast  at  seven 

Or  ten  or  eleven, 

Nor  think  when  it 's  noon 

That  luncheon 's  too  soon. 

From  twelve  until  one 

I  can  munch  on  a  bun. 

At  one  or  at  two 

My  dinner  '11  be  due. 

At  three,  say,  or  four, 

I  'II  eat  a  bit  more. 

When  the  clock  's  striking  five 

Some  mild  exercise, 

m 


The  Pink  of  Perfection 

Very  brief,  would  be  wise, 
Lest  I  lack  appetite 
For  my  supper  at  night. 
Don't  go  to  bed  late, 
Eat  a  light  lunch  at  eight, 
Nor  forget  to  say  prayers 
For  my  cousins  downstairs. 
Then  with  conscience  like  mine 
I  '11  be  sleeping  at  nine. 

Mrs.  Carey  had  a  sense  of  humor,  and  when 
the  weeping  Julia  brought  the  two  documents 
to  her  for  consideration  she  had  great  difficulty 
in  adjusting  the  matter  gravely  and  with  due 
sympathy  for  her  niece. 

"The  F-f-f-fergusons  never  mentioned  my 
appetite,"  Julia  wailed.  "They  were  always  try- 
ing to  g-g-get  me  to  eat!" 

"Gilbert  and  Nancy  are  a  little  too  fond  of 
fun,  and  a  little  too  prone  to  chaffing,"  said  Mrs. 
Carey.  "They  forget  that  you  are  not  used  to  it, 
but  I  will  try  to  make  them  more  considerate. 
And  don't  forget,  my  dear,  that  in  a  large  family 
Hke  ours  we  must  learn  to  'live  and  let  live.' " 


XIV 

WAYS  AND  MEANS 

It  was  late  June,  and  Gilbert  had  returned  from 
school,  so  the  work  of  making  the  Yellow  House 
attractive  and  convenient  was  to  move  forward 
at  once.  Up  to  now,  the  unpacking  and  distri- 
bution of  the  furniture,  with  the  daily  house- 
work and  cooking,  had  been  all  that  Mrs.  Carey 
and  the  girls  could  manage. 

A  village  Jack-of-all-trades,  Mr.  Ossian  Pop- 
ham,  generally  and  familiarly  called  "Osh" 
Popham,  had  been  called  in  to  whitewash  exist- 
ing closets  and  put  hooks  in  them;  also,  with 
Bill  Harmon's  consent,  to  make  new  ones  here 
and  there  in  handy  corners.  Dozens  of  shelves 
in  odd  spaces  helped  much  in  the  tidy  stow- 
ing away  of  household  articles,  bed-clothing, 
and  stores.  In  the  midst  of  this  delightful  and 
cheery  setting-to-rights  a  letter  arrived  from  Cou- 
sin Ann.  The  family  was  all  sitting  together 
in  Mrs.  Carey's  room,  the  announced  intention 
being  to  hold  an  important  meeting  of  the  Ways 
and  Means  Committee,  the  Careys  being  strong 
an  ways  and  uniformly  short  on  means. 

The  arrival  of  the  letters  by  the  hand  of  Bill 
124 


Ways  and  Means 


Harmon's  boy  occurred  before  the  meeting  was 
called  to  order. 

"May  I  read  Cousin  Ann's  aloud?"  asked 
Nancy,  who  had  her  private  reasons  for  making 
the  offer. 

"Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Carey  unsuspectingly, 
as  she  took  up  the  inevitable  stocking.  "  I  almost 
wish  you  had  all  been  storks  instead  of  chickens ; 
then  you  would  always  have  held  up  one  foot, 
and  perhaps  that  stocking,  at  least,  would  n't 
have  had  holes  in  it!" 

"Poor  Muddy!  I'm  learning  to  darn,"  cried 
Kathleen,  kissing  her. 

Longhampton,  New  Jersey,  June  %7th. 

My  dear  Margaret  [so  Nancy  read], — The 
climate  of  this  seaside  place  suits  me  so  badly 
that  I  have  concluded  to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
summer  with  you,  lightening  those  household 
tasks  which  will  fall  so  heavily  on  your  shoulders. 

[Groans  from  the  whole  family  greeted  this 
opening  passage,  and  Gilbert  cast  himself,  face 
down,  on  his  mother's  lounge.] 

It  is  always  foggy  here  when  it  does  not  rain, 
and  the  cooking  is  very  bad.  The  manager  of 
the  hotel  is  uncivil  and  the  office  clerks  very 
rude,  so  that  Beulah,  unfortunate  place  of  resi- 
dence as  I  consider  it,  will  be  much  preferable. 

125 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


I  hope  you  are  getting  on  well  with  the  work 
on  the  house,  although  I  regard  your  treating  it 
as  if  it  were  your  own,  as  the  height  of  extrava- 
gance. You  will  never  get  back  a  penny  you 
spend  on  it,  and  probably  when  you  get  it  in 
good  order  Mr.  Hamilton  will  come  back  from 
Europe  and  live  in  it  himself,  or  take  it  away 
from  you  and  sell  it  to  some  one  else. 

Gilbert  will  be  home  by  now,  but  I  should  not 
allow  him  to  touch  the  woodwork,  as  he  is  too 
careless  and  unreliable. 

["  She'll  never  forget  that  the  bed  came  down 
with  her!"  exclaimed  Gilbert,  his  voice  muffled 
by  the  sofa  cushions.] 

Remember  me  to  Julia.  I  hope  she  enjoys  her 
food  better  than  when  I  was  with  you.  Children 
must  eat  if  they  would  grow. 

[Mother  Carey  pricked  up  her  ears  at  this 
point,  and  Gilbert  raised  himself  on  one  elbow, 
but  Nancy  went  on  gravely.] 

Tell  Kathleen  to  keep  out  of  the  sun,  or  wear 
a  hat,  as  her  complexion  is  not  at  all  what  it  used 
to  be.  Without  color  and  with  freckles  she  will 
be  an  unusually  plain  child. 

[Kathleen  flushed  angrily  and  laid  down  her 
work.] 

Give  my  love  to  darling  Nancy.  What  a 
treasure  you  have  in  your  eldest,  Margaret!   I 

126 


Ways  and  Means 


hope  you  are  properly  grateful  for  her.    Such 
talent,  such  beauty,  such  grace,  such  discretion  — 

But  here  the  family  rose  en  masse  and  de- 
scended on  the  reader  of  the  spurious  letter  just 
as  she  had  turned  the  first  page.  In  the  amiable 
scuffle  that  ensued,  a  blue  slip  fell  from  Cousin 
Ann's  envelope  and  Gilbert  handed  it  to  his 
mother  with  the  letter. 

Mrs.  Carey,  wiping  the  tears  of  merriment 
that  came  to  her  eyes  in  spite  of  her,  so  exactly 
had  Nancy  caught  Cousin  Ann's  epistolary 
style,  read  the  real  communication,  which  ran 
as  follows :  — 

Dear  Margaret, —  I  have  had  you  much  in 
mind  since  I  left  you,  always  with  great  anxiety 
lest  your  strength  should  fail  under  the  unex- 
pected strain  you  put  upon  it.  I  had  intended  to 
give  each  of  you  a  check  for  thirty-five  dollars 
at  Christmas  to  spend  as  you  liked,  but  I  must 
say  I  have  not  entire  confidence  in  your  judg- 
ment. You  will  be  likelier  far  to  decorate  the 
walls  of  the  house  than  to  bring  water  into  the 
kitchen  sink.  I  therefore  enclose  you  three 
hundred  dollars  and  beg  that  you  will  have  the 
well  piped  at  once,  and  if  there  is  any  way  to 
carry  the  water  to  the  bedroom  floor,  do  it,  and 

127 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


let  me  send  the  extra  amount  involved.  You 
will  naturally  have  the  well  cleaned  out  anyway, 
but  I  should  prefer  never  to  know  what  you 
found  in  it.  My  only  other  large  gift  to  you  in 
the  past  was  one  of  ornaments,  sent,  you  remem- 
ber, at  the  time  of  your  wedding! 

["We  remember!"  groaned  the  children  in 
chorus.] 

I  do  not  regret  this,  though  my  view  of  life, 
of  its  sorrows  and  perplexities,  has  changed 
somewhat,  and  I  am  more  practical  than  I  used 
to  be.  The  general  opinion  is  that  in  giving  for 
a  present  an  object  of  permanent  beauty,  your 
friends  think  of  you  whenever  they  look  upon  it. 

["That's  so!"  remarked  Gilbert  to  Nancy.] 

This  is  true,  no  doubt,  but  there  are  other 
ways  of  making  yourself  remembered,  and  I  am 
willing  that  you  should  think  kindly  of  Cousin 
Ann  whenever  you  use  the  new  pump. 

The  second  improvement  I  wish  made  with 
the  money  is  the  instalment  of  a  large  furnace- 
like stove  in  the  cellar,  which  will  send  up  a  little 
heat,  at  least,  into  the  hall  and  lower  rooms  in 
winter.  You  will  probably  have  to  get  the  own- 
er's consent,  and  I  should  certainly  ask  for  a 
five  years'  lease  before  expending  any  consid- 
erable amount  of  money  on  the  premises. 

If  there  is  any  money  left,  I  should  suggest 
128 


Ways  and  Means 


new  sills  to  the  back  doors  and  those  in  the  shed. 
I  noticed  that  the  present  ones  are  very  rotten, 
and  I  dare  say  by  this  time  you  have  processions 
of  red  and  black  ants  coming  into  your  house. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  I  never  saw  so  much  insect 
life  as  in  Beulah.  Moths,  caterpillars,  brown- 
tails,  slugs,  spiders,  June  bugs,  horseflies,  and 
mosquitoes  were  among  the  pests  I  specially 
noted.  The  Mr.  Popham  who  drove  me  to  the 
station  said  that  snakes  also  abounded  in  the 
tall  grass,  but  I  should  not  lay  any  stress  on  his 
remarks,  as  I  never  saw  such  manners  in  my 
life  in  any  Christian  civilized  community.  He 
asked  me  my  age,  and  when  I  naturally  made 
no  reply,  he  inquired  after  a  few  minutes'  silence 
whether  I  was  unmarried  from  choice  or  neces- 
sity. When  I  refused  to  carry  on  any  conversa- 
tion with  him  he  sang  jovial  songj  so  audibly 
that  persons  going  along  the  street  smiled  and 
waved  their  hands  to  him.  I  tell  you  this  be- 
cause you  appear  to  have  false  ideas  of  the 
people  in  Beulah,  most  of  whom  seemed  to  me 
either  eccentric  or  absolutely  insane. 

Hoping  that  you  can  endure  your  life  there 
when  the  water  smells  better  and  you  do  not 
have  to  carry  it  from  the  well,  I  am 
Yours  affectionately, 

Ann  Chadwick. 
129 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"  Children !"  said  Mrs.  Carey,  folding  the  let- 
ter and  slipping  the  check  into  the  envelope  for 
safety,  "your  Cousin  Ann  is  really  a  very  good 
woman." 

"I  wish  her  bed  had  n't  come  down  with  her," 
said  Gilbert.  "We  could  never  have  afforded  to 
get  that  water  into  the  house,  or  had  the  little 
furnace,  and  I  suppose,  though  no  one  of  us  ever 
thought  of  it,  that  you  would  have  had  a  hard 
time  doing  the  work  in  the  winter  in  a  cold  house, 
and  it  would  have  been  dreadful  going  to  the 
pump." 

"Dreadful  for  you  too,  Gilly,"  replied  Kath- 
leen pointedly. 

"I  shall  be  at  school,  where  I  can't  help," 
said  Gilbert. 

Mrs.  Carey  made  no  remark,  as  she  intended 
the  fact  that  there  was  no  money  for  Gilbert's 
tuition  at  Eastover  to  sink  gradually  into  his 
mind,  so  that  he  might  make  the  painful  dis- 
covery himself.  His  fees  had  fortunately  been 
paid  in  advance  up  to  the  end  of  the  summer 
term,  so  the  strain  on  their  resources  had  not 
been  felt  up  to  now. 

Nancy  had  disappeared  from  the  room  and 
now  stood  in  the  doorway. 

"I  wish  to  remark  that,  having  said  a  good 
many  disagreeable  things  about  Cousin  Ann* 

130 


Ways  and  Means 


and  regretting  them  very  much,  I  have  placed 
the  four  black  and  white  marble  ornaments  on 
my  bedroom  mantelpiece,  there  to  be  a  perpetual 
reminder  of  my  sins.  You  Dirty  Boy  is  in  a  hun- 
dred pieces  in  the  barn  chamber,  but  if  Cousin 
Ann  ever  comes  to  visit  us  again,  I  '11  be  the  one 
to  confess  that  Gilly  and  I  were  the  cause  of  the 
accident." 

"Now  take  your  pencil,  Nancy,  and  see  where 
we  are  in  point  of  income,  at  the  present  mo- 
ment," her  mother  suggested,  with  an  approv- 
ing smile.  "Put  down  the  pension  of  thirty 
dollars  a  month." 

"Down.  —  Three  hundred  and  sixty  dollars." 

"Now  the  hundred  dollars  over  and  above  the 
rent  of  the  Charlestown  house." 

"Down;  but  it  lasts  only  four  years." 

"We  may  all  be  dead  by  that  time."  (This 
cheerfully  from  Gilbert.) 

"Then  the  interest  on  our  insurance  money. 
Four  per  cent  on  five  thousand  dollars  is  two 
hundred;  I  have  multiplied  it  twenty  times." 

"Down.  —  Two  hundred." 

"Of  course  if  anything  serious  happens,  or  any 
great  need  comes,  we  have  the  five  thousand  to 
draw  upon,"  interpolated  Gilbert. 

"I  will  draw  upon  that  to  save  one  of  us  in 
illness  or  to  bury  one  of  us,"  said  Mrs.  Carey 

131 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


with  determination,  "but  I  will  never  live  out 
of  it  myself,  nor  permit  you  to.  We  are  five,  — 
six,  while  Julia  is  with  us,"  she  added  hastily, 
—  "and  six  persons  will  surely  have  rainy  days 
coming  to  them.   What  if  I  should  die  and  leave 

you?" 

"Don't,  mother!"  they  cried  in  chorus,  so 
passionately  that  Mrs.  Carey  changed  the  sub- 
ject quickly.  "How  much  a  year  does  it  make, 
Nancy?" 

"Three  hundred  and  sixty  plus  one  hundred 
plus  two  hundred  equals  six  hundred  and  sixty," 
read  Nancy.  'And  I  call  it  a  splendid  big  lump 
of  money!" 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  sighed  her  mother  with  a 
shake  of  the  head,  "if  you  knew  the  difficulty 
your  father  and  I  have  had  to  take  care  of  our- 
selves and  of  you  on  five  and  six  times  that  sum ! 
We  may  have  been  a  little  extravagant  some- 
times following  him  about,  —  he  was  always  so 
anxious  to  have  us  with  him,  —  but  that  has 
been  our  only  luxury." 

"We  saved  enough  out  of  exchanging  the 
grand  piano  to  pay  all  the  expenses  down  here, 
and  all  our  railway  fares,  and  everything  so  far, 
in  the  way  of  boards  and  nails  and  Osh  Pop- 
ham's  labor,"  recalled  Gilbert. 

"Yes,  and  we  are  still  eating  the  grand  piano 
132 


Ways  and  Means 


at  the  end  of  two  months,  but  it's  about  gone, 
is  n't  it,  Muddy?"  Nancy  asked. 

"About  gone,  but  it  has  been  a  great  help, 
and  our  dear  little  old-fashioned  square  is  just 
as  much  of  a  comfort.  —  Of  course  there's  the 
tapestry  and  the  Van  Twiller  landscape  Uncle 
gave  me;  they  may  yet  be  sold." 

"Somebody  '11  buy  the  tapestry,  but  the  Van 
Twiller  '11  go  hard,"  and  Gilbert  winked  at 
Nancy. 

"A  picture  that  looks  just  the  same  upside 
down  as  the  right  way  about  won't  find  many 
buyers,"  was  Nancy's  idea. 

"Still  it  is  a  Van  Twiller,  and  has  a  certain 
authentic  value  for  all  time!" 

"The  landscapes  Van  Twiller  painted  in  the 
dark,  or  when  he  had  his  blinders  on,  can't  be 
worth  very  much,"  insisted  Gilbert.  "You  re- 
member the  Admiral  thought  it  was  partridges 
nesting  in  the  underbrush  at  twilight,  and  then 
we  found  Joanna  had  cleaned  the  dining  room 
and  hung  the  thing  upside  down.  When  it  was 
hung  the  other  end  up  neither  father  nor  the 
Admiral  could  tell  what  it  was;  they'd  lost  the 
partridges  and  could  n't  find  anything  else!" 

"We  shall  get  something  for  it  because  it  is 
a  Van  Twiller,"  said  Mrs.  Carey  hopefully; 
"and  the  tapestry  is  lovely.  —  Now  we  have 

133 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


been  doing  all  our  own  work  to  save  money 
enough  to  make  the  house  beautiful;  yet,  as 
Cousin  Ann  says,  it  does  not  belong  to  us  and 
may  be  taken  away  at  any  moment  after  the 
year  is  up.  We  have  never  even  seen  our  land- 
lord, though  Mr.  Harmon  has  written  to  him. 
Are  we  foolish?  What  do  you  think,  Julia?" 


XV 

BELONGING  TO  BEULAH 

The  Person  without  a  Fault  had  been  quietly 
working  at  her  embroidery,  raising  her  head  now 
and  then  to  look  at  some  extraordinary  Carey, 
when  he  or  she  made  some  unusually  silly  or 
fantastic  remark. 

"I'm  not  so  old  as  Gilbert  and  Nancy,  and 
I'm  only  a  niece,"  she  said  modestly,  "so  I 
ought  not  to  have  an  opinion.  But  I  should  get 
a  maid-of -all-work  at  once,  so  that  we  should  n't 
all  be  drudges  as  we  are  now;  then  I  should  not 
spend  a  single  cent  on  the  house,  but  just  live 
here  in  hiding,  as  it  were,  till  better  times  come 
and  till  we  are  old  enough  to  go  into  society. 
You  could  scrimp  and  save  for  Nancy's  coming 
out,  and  then  for  Kathleen's.  Father  would 
certainly  be  well  long  before  then,  and  Kathleen 
and  I  could  debut  together!" 

"Who  wants  to  'debut'  together  or  any  other 
way,"  sniffed  Nancy  scornfully.  "I'm  coming 
out  right  here  in  Beulah;  indeed  I'm  not  sure 
but  I'm  out  already!  Mr.  Bill  Harmon  has 
asked  me  to  come  to  the  church  sociable  and 
Mr.  Popham  has  invited  me  to  the  Red  Men's 

135 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


picnic  at  Greentown.  Beulah  's  good  for  some- 
thing better  than  a  place  to  hide  in !  We  '11  have 
to  save  every  penny  at  first,  of  course,  but  in 
three  or  four  years  Gilly  and  I  ought  to  be 
earning  something/' 

"The  trouble  is,  I  can't  earn  anything  in  col- 
lege," objected  Gilbert,  "though  I'd  like  to." 

"That  will  be  the  only  way  a  college  course 
can  come  to  you  now,  Gilbert,"  his  mother  said 
quietly.  "You  know  nothing  of  the  expenses 
involved.  They  would  have  taxed  our  resources 
to  the  utmost  if  father  had  lived,  and  we  had  had 
our  more  than  five  thousand  a  year !  You  and 
I  together  must  think  out  your  problem  this 
summer." 

Gilbert  looked  blank  and  walked  to  the  win- 
dow with  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 

"I  should  lose  all  my  friends,  and  it's  hard 
for  a  fellow  to  make  his  way  in  the  world  if  he 
has  nothing  to  recommend  him  but  his  gradu- 
ation from  some  God-forsaken  little  hole  like 
Beulah  Academy." 

Nancy  looked  as  if  she  could  scalp  her  brother 
when  he  alluded  to  her  beloved  village  in  these 
terms,  but  her  mother's  warning  look  stopped 
any  comment. 

Julia  took  up  arms  for  her  cousin.  "  We  ought 
to  go  without  everything  for  the  sake  of  sending 

136 


Belonging  to  Betjlah 


Gilbert  to  college,"  she  said.  "Gladys  Ferguson 
does  n't  know  a  single  boy  who  is  n't  going  to 
Harvard  or  Yale." 

"If  a  boy  of  good  family  and  good  breeding 
cannot  make  friends  by  his  own  personality  and 
his  own  qualities  of  mind  and  character,  I  should 
think  he  would  better  go  without  them,"  said 
Gilbert's  mother  casually. 

"Don't  you  believe  in  a  college  education, 
mother?"  inquired  Gilbert  in  an  astonished 
tone. 

"Certainly!  Why  else  should  we  have  made 
sacrifices  to  send  you?  To  begin  with,  it  is  much 
simpler  and  easier  to  be  educated  in  college. 
You  have  a  thousand  helps  and  encouragements 
that  other  fellows  have  to  get  as  they  may.  The 
paths  are  all  made  straight  for  the  students.  A 
stupid  boy,  or  one  with  small  industry  or  little 
originality,  must  have  something  drummed  into 
him  in  four  years,  with  all  the  splendid  teaching 
energy  that  the  colleges  employ.  It  requires  a 
very  high  grade  of  mental  and  moral  power  to  do 
without  such  helps,  and  it  may  be  that  you  are 
not  strong  enough  to  succeed  without  them;  — 
I  do  not  know  your  possibilities  yet,  Gilbert,  and 
neither  do  you  know  them  yourself!" 

Gilbert  looked  rather  nonplussed.  "Pretty 
stiff,  I  call  it!"  he  grumbled,  "to  say  that  if 

137 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


you've  got  brains  enough  you  can  do  without 
college." 

"It  is  true,  nevertheless.  If  you  have  brains 
enough,  and  will  enough,  and  heart  enough,  you 
can  stay  here  in  Beulah  and  make  the  universe 
search  you  out,  and  drag  you  into  the  open, 
where  men  have  need  of  you!"  (Mrs.  Carey's 
eyes  shone  and  her  cheeks  glowed.)  "What  we 
all  want  as  a  family  is  to  keep  well  and  strong 
and  good,  in  body  and  mind  and  soul;  to  con- 
quer our  weaknesses,  to  train  our  gifts,  to  har- 
ness our  powers  to  some  wished-for  end,  and 
then  pull,  with  all  our  might.  Can't  my  girls  be 
fine  women,  fit  for  New  York  or  Washington, 
London  or  Paris,  because  their  young  days  were 
passed  in  Beulah?  Can't  my  boys  be  anything 
that  their  brains  and  courage  fit  them  for, 
whether  they  make  their  own  associations  or 
have  them  made  for  them?  Father  would  never 
have  flung  the  burden  on  your  shoulders,  Gil- 
bert, but  he  is  no  longer  here.  You  can't  have 
the  help  of  Yale  or  Harvard  or  Bowdoin  to  make 
a  man  of  you,  my  son,  —  you  will  have  to  fight 
your  own  battles  and  win  your  own  spurs." 

"Oh!  mother,  but  you're  splendid!"  cried 
Nancy,  the  quick  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Brace  up, 
old  Gilly,  and  show  what  the  Careys  can  do 
without   'advantages.'    Brace   up,   Kitty   and 

138 


Belonging  to  Betjlah 


Julia!    We  three  will  make  Beulah  Academy 
ring  next  year!" 

"And  I  don't  want  you  to  look  upon  Beulah 
as  a  place  of  hiding  while  adversity  lasts,"  said 
Mother  Carey.  "We  must  make  it  home;  as 
beautiful  and  complete  as  we  can  afford.  One 
real  home  always  makes  others,  I  am  sure  of 
that!  We  will  ask  Mr.  Harmon  to  write  Mr. 
Hamilton  and  see  if  he  will  promise  to  leave 
us  undisturbed.  We  cannot  be  happy,  or  pros- 
perous, or  useful,  or  successful,  unless  we  can 
contrive  to  make  the  Yellow  House  a  home. 
The  river  is  our  river;  the  village  is  our  vil- 
lage; the  people  are  our  neighbors;  Beulah  be- 
longs to  us  and  we  belong  to  Beulah,  don't  we, 
Peter?" 

Mother  Carey  always  turned  to  Peter  with 
some  nonsensical  appeal  when  her  heart  was  full 
and  her  voice  a  trifle  unsteady.  You  could  bury 
your  head  in  Peter's  little  white  sailor  jacket 
just  under  his  chin,  at  which  he  would  dimple 
and  gurgle  and  chuckle  and  wriggle,  and  when 
you  withdrew  your  flushed  face  and  presented 
it  to  the  public  gaze  all  the  tears  would  have 
been  wiped  off  on  Peter. 

So  on  this  occasion  did  Mrs.  Carey  repeat, 
as  she  set  Peter  down,  "Don't  we  belong  to 
Beulah,  dear?" 

139 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Yes,  we  does,"  he  lisped,  "and  I'm  going  to 
work  myself,  pretty  soon  bimebye  just  after  a 
while,  when  I'm  a  little  more  grown  up,  and 
then  I'll  buy  the  Yellow  House  quick." 

"So  you  shall,  precious!"  cried  Kathleen. 

"I  was  measured  on  Muddy  this  morning, 
wasn't  I,  Muddy,  and  I  was  half  way  to  her 
belt;  and  in  Charlestown  I  was  only  a  little  farder 
up  than  her  knees.  All  the  time  I'm  growing 
up  she 's  ungrowing  down !  She 's  smallering  and 
I'm  biggering." 

"Are  you  afraid  your  mother  '11  be  too  small, 
sweet  Pete?"  asked  Mrs.  Carey. 

"No!"  this  very  stoutly.  "Danny  Harmon's 
mother 's  more  'n  up  to  the  mantelpiece  and  I  'd 
hate  to  have  my  mother  so  far  away! "said  Peter 
as  he  embraced  Mrs.  Carey's  knees. 

Julia  had  said  little  during  this  long  conversa- 
tion, though  her  mind  was  fairly  bristling  with 
objections  and  negatives  and  different  points  of 
view,  but  she  was  always  more  or  less  awed  by 
her  Aunt  Margaret,  and  never  dared  defy  her 
opinion.  She  had  a  real  admiration  for  her 
aunt's  beauty  and  dignity  and  radiant  presence, 
though  it  is  to  be  feared  she  cared  less  for  the 
qualities  of  character  that  made  her  personality 
so  luminous  with  charm  for  everybody.  She  saw 
people  look  at  her,  listen  to  her,  follow  her  with 

140 


Belonging  to  Beulah 


their  eyes,  comment  on  her  appearance,  her 
elegance,  and  her  distinction,  and  all  this  im- 
pressed her  deeply.  As  to  Cousin  Ann's  present 
her  most  prominent  feeling  was  that  it  would 
have  been  much  better  if  that  lady  had  followed 
her  original  plan  of  sending  individual  thirty- 
five-dollar  checks.  In  that  event  she,  Julia,  was 
quite  certain  that  hers  never  would  have  gone 
into  a  water-pipe  or  a  door-sill. 

"Oh,  Kathleen!"  sighed  Nancy  as  the  two 
went  into  the  kitchen  together.  "Is  n't  mother 
the  most  interesting  'scolder'  you  ever  listened 
to?  I  love  to  hear  her  do  it,  especially  when 
somebody  else  is  getting  it.  When  it 's  I,  I  grow 
smaller  and  smaller,  curling  myself  up  like  a 
little  worm.  Then  when  she  has  finished  I 
squirm  to  the  door  and  wriggle  out.  Other 
mothers  say:  'If  you  don't,  I  shall  tell  your 
father ! '  ' Do  as  I  tell  you,  and  ask  no  questions.' 
'I  never  heard  of  such  behavior  in  my  life!' 
'Have  n't  you  any  sense  of  propriety?'  'If  this 
happens  again  I  shall  have  to  do  something 
desperate.'  'Leave  the  room  at  once,'  and  so  on; 
but  mother  sets  you  to  thinking." 

"Mother  does  n't  really  scold,"  Kathleen  ob- 
jected. 

"No,  but  she  shows  you  how  wrong  you  are, 
just  the  same.    Did  you  notice  how  Julia  with- 

141 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ered  when  mother  said  we  were  not  to  look  upon 
Beulah  as  a  place  of  hiding?" 

"She  didn't  stay  withered  long,"  Kathleen 
remarked. 

"And  she  said  just  the  right  thing  to  dear  old 
Gilly,  for  Fred  Bascom  is  filling  his  head  with 
foolish  notions.  He  needs  father  to  set  him 
right." 

"We  all  need  father,"  sighed  Kitty  tearfully, 
"but  somehow  mother  grows  a  little  more 
splendid  every  day.  I  believe  she's  trying  to 
fill  father's  place  and  be  herself  too!" 


XVI 

THE  POST  BAG 

Letter  from  Mr.  William  Harmon,  storekeeper 
at  Beulah  Corner,  to  Hon.  Lemuel  Hamilton, 
American  Consul  at  Breslau,  Germany. 

Beulah,  June  %7tk. 

Dear  Lem:  The  folks  up  to  your  house  want 
to  lay  out  money  on  it  and  dont  dass  for  fear 
you'll  turn  em  out  and  pocket  their  improve- 
ments. If  you  haint  got  any  better  use  for 
the  propety  I  advise  you  to  hold  on  to  this 
bunch  of  tennants  as  they  are  O.  K.  wash  goods, 
all  wool,  and  a  yard  wide.  I  wooden t  like  Mrs. 
Harmon  to  know  how  I  feel  about  the  lady,  who 
is  hansome  as  a  picture  and  the  children  are  a 
first  class  crop  and  no  mistake.  They  will  not 
lay  out  much  at  first  as  they  are  short  of  cash 
but  if  ever  good  luck  comes  along  they  will  fit 
up  the  house  like  a  pallis  and  your  granchildren 
will  reep  the  proffit.  I'll  look  out  for  your  in- 
terest and  see  they  dont  do  nothing  outlandish. 
They'd  have  hard  work  to  beat  that  fool -job 
your  boys  did  on  the  old  barn,  fixin  it  up  so't 

143 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


nobody  could  keep  critters  in  it,  so  no  more  from 
your  old  school  frend 

Bill  Harmon. 

P.  S.  We've  been  having  a  spell  of  tumble  hot 
wether  in  Beulah.  How  is  it  with  you?  I  never 
framed  it  up  jest  what  kind  of  a  job  an  American 
Counsul's  was;  but  I  guess  he  aint  never  het  up 
with  overwork!  There  was  a  piece  in  a  Port- 
land paper  about  a  Counsul  somewhere  being 
fired  because  he  set  in  his  shirt-sleeves  durin 
office  hours.  I  says  to  Col.  Wheeler  if  Uncle 
Sam  could  keep  em  all  in  their  shirtsleeves, 
hustlin  for  dear  life,  it  wood  be  all  the  better  for 
him  and  us! 

Bill. 

Letter  from  Miss  Nancy  Carey  to  the  Hon. 
Lemuel  Hamilton. 

Beulah,  June  11th. 

Dear  Mr.  Hamilton,  —  I  am  Nancy,  the 
oldest  of  the  Carey  children,  who  live  in  your 
house.  When  father  was  alive,  he  took  us  on  a 
driving  trip,  and  we  stopped  and  had  luncheon 
under  your  big  maple  and  fell  in  love  with  your 
empty  house.  Father  (he  was  a  Captain  in  the 
Navy  and  there  was  never  anybody  like  him 
in  the  world !)  —  Father  leaned  over  the  gate 

144 


The  Post  Bag 


and  said  if  he  was  only  rich  he  would  drive  the 
horse  into  the  barn  and  buy  the  place  that  very 
day;  and  mother  said  it  would  be  a  beautiful  spot 
to  bring  up  a  family.  We  children  had  wriggled 
under  the  fence,  and  were  climbing  the  apple 
trees  by  that  time,  and  we  wanted  to  be  brought 
up  there  that  very  minute.  We  all  of  us  look  back 
to  that  day  as  the  happiest  one  that  we  can  re- 
member. Mother  laughs  when  I  talk  of  looking 
back,  because  I  am  not  sixteen  yet,  but  I  think, 
although  we  did  not  know  it,  God  knew  that 
father  was  going  to  die  and  we  were  going  to  live 
in  that  very  spot  afterwards.  Father  asked  us 
what  we  could  do  for  the  place  that  had  been 
so  hospitable  to  us,  and  I  remembered  a  box  of 
plants  in  the  carryall,  that  we  had  bought  at  a 
wayside  nursery,  for  the  flower  beds  in  Charles- 
town.  "Plant  something!"  I  said,  and  father 
thought  it  was  a  good  idea  and  took  a  little 
crimson  rambler  rose  bush  from  the  box.  Each 
of  us  helped  make  the  place  for  it  by  taking  a 
turn  with  the  luncheon  knives  and  spoons;  then 
I  planted  the  rose  and  father  took  off  his  hat  and 
said,  "Three  cheers  for  the  Yellow  House!" 
and  mother  added,  "God  bless  it,  and  the  chil- 
dren who  come  to  live  in  it!"  —  There  is  surely 
something  strange  in  that,  don't  you  think  so? 
Then  when  father  died  last  year  we  had  to 
145 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


find  a  cheap  and  quiet  place  to  live,  and  I 
remembered  the  Yellow  House  in  Beulah  and 
told  mother  my  idea.  She  does  not  say  "Bosh!" 
like  some  mothers,  but  if  our  ideas  sound  like 
anything  she  tries  them;  so  she  sent  Gilbert  to 
see  if  the  house  was  still  vacant,  and  when  we 
found  it  was,  we  took  it.  The  rent  is  sixty  dol- 
lars a  year,  as  I  suppose  Bill  Harmon  told  you 
when  he  sent  you  mother's  check  for  fifteen 
dollars  for  the  first  quarter.  We  think  it  is  very 
reasonable,  and  do  not  wonder  you  don't  like 
to  spend  anything  on  repairs  or  improvements 
for  us,  as  you  have  to  pay  taxes  and  insurance. 
We  hope  you  will  have  a  good  deal  over  for  your 
own  use  out  of  our  rent,  as  we  should  n't  like 
to  feel  under  obligation.  If  we  had  a  million 
we'd  spend  it  all  on  the  Yellow  House,  because 
we  are  fond  of  it  in  the  way  you  are  fond  of  a 
person;  it's  not  only  that  we  want  to  paint  it 
and  paper  it,  but  we  would  like  to  pat  it  and 
squeeze  it.  If  you  can't  live  in  it  yourself,  even 
in  the  summer,  perhaps  you  will  be  glad  to  know 
we  love  it  so  much  and  want  to  tak?  good  care 
of  it  always.  What  troubles  us  is  the  fear  that 
you  will  take  it  away  or  sell  it  to  somebody 
before  Gilbert  and  I  are  grown  up  and  have 
earned  money  enough  to  buy  it.  It  was  Cousin 
Ann  that  put  the  idea  into  our  heads,  but  every- 

146 


The  Post  Bag 


body  says  it  is  quite  likely  and  sensible.  Cousin 
Ann  has  made  us  a  splendid  present  of  enough 
money  to  bring  the  water  from  the  well  into  the 
kitchen  sink  and  to  put  a  large  stove  like  a  fur- 
nace into  the  cellar.  We  would  cut  two  registers 
behind  the  doors  in  the  dining-room  and  sitting- 
room  floors,  and  two  little  round  holes  in  the 
ceilings  to  let  the  heat  up  into  two  bedrooms, 
if  you  are  willing  to  let  us  do  it.  [Mother  says 
that  Cousin  Ann  is  a  good  and  generous  person. 
It  is  true,  and  it  makes  us  very  unhappy  that  we 
cannot  really  love  her  on  account  of  her  being  so 
fault-finding;  but  you,  being  an  American  Con- 
sul and  travelling  all  over  the  world,  must  have 
seen  somebody  like  her.] 

Mr.  Harmon  is  writing  to  you,  but  I  thought 
he  would  n't  know  so  much  about  us  as  I  do. 
We  have  father's  pension;  that  is  three  hundred 
and  sixty  dollars  a  year;  and  one  hundred  dol- 
lars a  year  from  the  Charlestown  house,  but  that 
only  lasts  for  four  years;  and  two  hundred  dol- 
lars a  year  from  the  interest  on  father's  insurance. 
That  makes  six  hundred  and  sixty  dollars, 
which  is  a  great  deal  if  you  have  n't  been  used 
to  three  thousand,  but  does  not  seem  to  be 
enough  for  a  family  of  six.  There  is  the  insur- 
ance money  itself,  too,  but  mother  says  nothing 
but  a  very  dreadful  need  must  make  us  touch 

147 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


that.  You  see  there  are  four  of  us  children, 
which  with  mother  makes  five,  and  now  there 
is  Julia,  which  makes  six.  She  is  Uncle  Allan's 
only  child.  Uncle  Allan  has  nervous  prostration 
and  all  of  mother's  money.  We  are  not  poor  at 
all,  just  now,  on  account  of  having  exchanged 
the  grand  piano  for  an  old-fashioned  square  and 
eating  up  the  extra  money.  It  is  great  fun,  and 
whenever  we  have  anything  very  good  for  sup- 
per Kathleen  says,  "Here  goes  a  piano  leg!" 
and  Gilbert  says,  "Let's  have  an  octave  of  white 
notes  for  Sunday  supper,  mother!"  I  send  you  a 
little  photograph  of  the  family  taken  together 
on  your  side  piazza  (we  call  it  our  piazza,  and  I 
hope  you  don't  mind).  I  am  the  tallest  girl,  with 
the  curly  hair.  Julia  is  sitting  down  in  front, 
hemming.  She  said  we  should  look  so  idle  if 
somebody  did  n't  do  something,  but  she  never 
really  hems;  and  Kathleen  is  leaning  over 
mother's  shoulder.  We  all  wanted  to  lean  over 
mother's  shoulder,  but  Kitty  got  there  first, 
The  big  boy  is  Gilbert.  He  can't  go  to  college 
now,  as  father  intended,  and  he  is  very  sad  and 
depressed;  but  mother  says  he  has  a  splendid 
chance  to  show  what  father's  son  can  do  with- 
out any  help  but  his  own  industry  and  pluck. 
Please  look  carefully  at  the  lady  sitting  in  the 
chair,  for  it  is  our  mother.  It  is  only  a  snap  shot, 

148 


The  Post  Bag 


but  you  can  see  how  beautiful  she  is.  Her  hair 
is  very  long,  and  the  wave  in  it  is  natural.  The 
little  boy  is  Peter.  He  is  the  loveliest  and  the 
dearest  of  all  of  us.  The  second  picture  is  of  me 
tying  up  the  crimson  rambler.  I  thought  you 
would  like  to  see  what  a  wonderful  rose  it  is. 
I  was  standing  in  a  chair,  training  the  long 
branches  and  tacking  them  against  the  house, 
when  a  gentleman  drove  by  with  a  camera  in 
his  wagon.  He  stopped  and  took  the  picture  and 
sent  us  one,  explaining  that  every  one  admired 
it.  I  happened  to  be  wearing  my  yellow  muslin, 
and  I  am  sending  you  the  one  the  gentleman 
colored,  because  it  is  the  beautiful  crimson  of 
the  rose  against  the  yellow  house  that  makes 
people  admire  it  so.  If  you  come  to  America 
please  don't  forget  Beulah,  because  if  you  once 
saw  mother  you  could  never  bear  to  disturb 
her,  seeing  how  brave  she  is,  living  without 
father.  Admiral  Southwick,  who  is  in  China, 
calls  us  Mother  Carey's  chickens.  They  are 
stormy  petrels,  and  are  supposed  to  go  out  over 
the  seas  and  show  good  birds  the  way  home.  We 
have  n't  done  anything  splendid  yet,  but  we 
mean  to  when  the  chance  comes.  I  have  n't  told 
anybody  that  I  am  writing  this,  but  I  wanted 
you  to  know  everything  about  us,  as  you  are 
our  landlord.    We  could  be  so  happy  if  Cousin 

149 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Ann  would  n't  always  say  we  are  spending 
money  on  another  person's  house  and  such  a 
silly  performance  never  came  to  any  good. 

I  enclose  you  a  little  picture  cut  from  the  wall 
paper  we  want  to  put  on  the  front  hall,  hoping 
you  will  like  it.  The  old  paper  is  hanging  in 
shreds  and  some  of  the  plaster  is  loose,  but  Mr. 
Popham  will  make  it  all  right.  Mother  says  she 
feels  as  if  he  had  pasted  laughter  and  good  nature 
on  all  the  walls  as  he  papered  them.  When 
you  open  the  front  door  (and  we  hope  you  will, 
sometime,  and  walk  right  in!)  how  lovely  it  will 
be  to  look  into  yellow  hayfields !  And  is  n't  the 
boatful  of  people  coming  to  the  haymaking, 
nice,  with  the  bright  shirts  of  the  men  and  the 
women's  scarlet  aprons?  Don't  you  love  the 
white  horse  in  the  hay  cart,  and  the  jolly  party 
picnicking  under  the  tree?  Mother  says  just 
think  of  buying  so  much  joy  and  color  for  twenty 
cents  a  double  roll;  and  we  children  think  we 
shall  never  get  tired  of  sitting  on  the  stairs  in 
cold  weather  and  making  believe  it  is  haying 
time.  Gilbert  says  we  are  putting  another  grand 
piano  leg  on  the  walls,  but  we  are  not,  for  we 
are  doing  all  our  own  cooking  and  dishwashing 
and  saving  the  money  that  a  cook  would  cost, 
to  do  lovely  things  for  the  Yellow  House.  Thank 
you,  dearest  Mr.  Hamilton,  for  letting  us  live  in 

150 


The  Post  Bag 


it.   We  are  very  proud  of  the  circular  steps  and 
very  proud  of  your  being  an  American  consul. 
Yours  affectionately, 

Nancy  Carey. 

P.  S.  It  is  June,  and  Beulah  is  so  beautiful 
you  feel  like  eating  it  with  sugar  and  cream !  We 
do  hope  that  you  and  your  children  are  living  in 
as  sweet  a  place,  so  that  you  will  not  miss  this 
one  so  much.  We  know  you  have  five,  older  than 
we  are,  but  if  there  are  any  the  right  size  for  me 
to  send  my  love  to,  please  do  it.  Mother  would 
wish  to  be  remembered  to  Mrs.  Hamilton,  but 
she  will  never  know  I  am  writing  to  you.  It  is 
my  first  business  letter. 

N.  C. 


XVII 

JACK  OF  ALL  TRADES 

Mr.  Ossian  (otherwise  "Osh")  Popham  was 
covering  the  hall  of  the  Yellow  House  with  the 
hayfield  paper.  Bill  Harmon's  father  had  left 
considerable  stock  of  one  sort  and  another  in 
the  great  unfinished  attic  over  the  store,  and 
though  much  of  it  was  worthless,  and  all  of  it 
was  out  of  date,  it  seemed  probable  that  it  would 
eventually  be  sold  to  the  Careys,  who  had  the 
most  unlimited  ingenuity  in  making  bricks  with- 
out straw,  when  it  came  to  house  decoration. 
They  had  always  moved  from  post  to  pillar  and 
Dan  to  Beersheba,  and  had  always,  inside  of  a 
week,  had  the  prettiest  and  most  delightful  hab- 
itation in  the  naval  colony  where  they  found 
themselves.  Beulah  itself,  as  well  as  all  the  sur- 
rounding country,  had  looked  upon  the  golden 
hayfield  paper  and  scorned  it  as  ugly  and  coun- 
trified; never  suspecting  that,  in  its  day,  it  had 
been  made  in  France  and  cost  a  dollar  and  a 
half  a  roll.  It  had  been  imported  for  a  govern- 
or's house,  and  only  half  of  it  used,  so  for  thirty 
years  the  other  half  had  waited  for  the  Careys. 
There  always  are    Careys  and  their  like,  and 

152 


Jack  of  All  Trades 


plenty  of  them,  in  every  generation,  so  old  things, 
if  they  are  good,  need  never  be  discouraged. 

Mr.  Popham  never  worked  at  his  bricklaying 
or  carpentering  or  cabinet  making  or  papering, 
by  the  hour,  but  "by  the  job";  and  a  kind 
Providence,  intent  on  the  welfare  of  the  commu- 
nity, must  have  guided  him  in  this  choice  of 
business  methods,  for  he  talked  so  much  more 
than  he  worked,  that  unless  householders  were 
well-to-do,  the  rights  of  employer  and  employee 
could  never  have  been  adjusted.  If  they  were 
rich  no  one  of  them  would  have  stopped  Ossian's 
conversation  for  a  second.  In  the  first  place  it 
was  even  better  than  his  work,  which  was  always 
good,  and  in  the  second  place  he  would  never 
consent  to  go  to  any  one,  unless  he  could  talk  as 
much  as  he  liked.  The  Careys  loved  him,  all  but 
Julia,  who  pronounced  him  "common"  and  said 
Miss  Tewksbury  told  her  never  to  listen  to  any 
one  who  said  "I  done  it"  or  "I  seen  it."  To  this 
Nancy  replied  (her  mother  being  in  the  garden, 
and  she  herself  not  yet  started  on  a  line  of  con- 
duct arranged  to  please  the  angels)  that  Miss 
Tewksbury  and  Julia  ought  to  have  a  little 
corner  of  heaven  finished  off  for  themselves; 
and  Julia  made  a  rude,  distinct,  hideous  "face" 
at  Nancy.  I  kave  always  dated  the  beginning 
of  Julia's  final  transformation  from  this  critical 

153 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


moment,  when  the  old  Adam  in  her  began  to 
work.  It  was  good  for  Nancy  too,  who  would 
have  trodden  on  Julia  so  long  as  she  was  an 
irritating  but  patient,  well-behaved  worm;  but 
who  would  have  to  use  a  little  care  if  the  worm 
showed  signs  of  turning. 

"Your  tongue  is  like  a  bread  knife,  Nancy 
Carey!"  Julia  exclaimed  passionately,  after 
twisting  her  nose  and  mouth  into  terrifying  and 
dreadful  shapes.  "If  it  was  n't  that  Miss  Tewks- 
bury  told  me  ladies  never  were  telltales,  I  could 
soon  make  trouble  between  you  and  your  blessed 
mother." 

"No,  you  could  n't,"  said  Nancy  curtly,  "for 
I'd  reform  sooner  than  let  you  do  that!  —  Per- 
haps I  did  say  too  much,  Julia,  only  I  can't  bear 
to  have  you  make  game  of  Mr.  Popham  when 
he 's  so  funny  and  nice.  Think  of  his  living  with 
nagging  Mrs.  Popham  and  his  stupid  daughter 
and  son  in  that  tiny  house,  and  being  happy  as 
a  king." 

"If  there  was  n't  something  wrong  with  him 
he  would  n't  be  happy  there,"  insisted  Julia. 

Mr.  Popham  himself  accounted  for  his  con- 
tentment without  insulting  his  intelligence. 
"The  way  I  look  at  it,"  he  said,  "this  world's 
all  the  world  we'll  git  till  we  git  to  the  next 
one;  an'  we  might 's  well  smile  on  it,  's  frown! 

154 


Jack  of  All  Trades 


You  git  your  piece  o'  life  an'  you  make  what  you 
can  of  it;  — that's  the  idee!  Now  the  other  day 
I  got  some  nice  soft  wood  that  was  prime  for 
whittlin';  jest  the  right  color  an'  grain  an'  all,  an* 
I  started  in  to  make  a  little  statue  o'  the  Duke 
o'  Wellington.  Well,  when  I  got  to  shapin'  him 
out,  I  found  my  piece  o'  wood  would  n't  be  long 
enough  to  give  him  his  height;  so  I  says,  'Well, 
I  don't  care,  I'll  cut  the  Duke  right  down  and 
make  Napoleon  Bonaparte.'  I'd  'a'  been  all 
right  if  I'd  cal'lated  better,  but  I  cut  my  block 
off  too  short,  and  I  could  n't  make  Napoleon 
nohow;  so  I  says,  'Well,  Isaac  Wratts  was  an 
awful  short  man,  so  I  guess  I  '11  make  him ! '  But 
this  time  my  wood  split  right  in  two.  Some  men 
would  'a'  been  discouraged,  but  I  was  n't,  not 
a  mite;  I  jest  said,  'I  never  did  fancy  Ike  Watts, 
an'  there 's  one  thing  this  blamed  chip  will  make, 
an'  that's  a  button  for  the  barn  door!'" 

Osh  not  only  whittled  and  papered  and 
painted,  but  did  anything  whatsoever  that 
needed  to  be  done  on  the  premises.  If  the  pump 
refused  to  draw  water,  or  the  sink  drain  was 
stopped,  or  the  gutters  needed  cleaning,  or  the 
grass  had  to  be  mowed,  he  was  the  man  ordained 
by  Providence  and  his  own  versatility  to  do  the 
work.  While  he  was  papering  the  front  hall  the 
entire  Carey  family  lived  on  the  stairs  between 

155 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


meals,  fearful  lest  they  should  lose  any  incident, 
any  anecdote,  any  story,  any  reminiscence  that 
might  fall  from  his  lips.  Mrs.  Carey  took  her 
mending  basket  and  sat  in  the  doorway,  within 
ear  shot,  while  Peter  had  all  the  scraps  of  paper 
and  a  small  pasting  board  on  the  steps,  where 
he  conducted  his  private  enterprises. 

Osh  would  cut  his  length  of  paper,  lay  it  flat 
on  the  board,  and  apply  the  wide  brush  up  and 
down  neatly  while  he  began  his  story.  Some- 
times if  the  tale  were  long  and  interesting  the 
paste  would  dry,  but  in  that  case  he  went  over 
the  surface  again.  At  the  precise  moment  of 
hanging,  the  flow  of  his  eloquence  stopped 
abruptly  and  his  hearers  had  to  wait  until  the 
piece  was  finished  before  they  learned  what  fin- 
ally became  of  Lyddy  Brown  after  she  drove  her 
husband  ou'  doors,  or  of  Bill  Harmon's  bull  ter- 
rier, who  set  an  entire  community  quarreling 
among  themselves.  His  racy  accounts  of  Mrs. 
Popham's  pessimism,  which  had  grown  prodi- 
giously from  living  in  the  house  with  his  opti- 
mism; his  anecdotes  of  Lallie  Joy  Popham,  who 
was  given  to  moods,  having  inherited  portions 
of  her  father's  incurable  hopefulness,  and  frag- 
ments of  her  mother's  ineradicable  gloom, — these 
were  of  a  character  that  made  the  finishing  of  the 
hall  a  matter  of  profound  unimportance. 

156 


THE    ENTIRE    FAMILY    LIVED   ON    THE    FRONT    STAIRS 


Jack  of  All  Trades 


"I  ain't  one  to  hurry,"  he  would  say  ge- 
nially; "that 's  the  reason  I  won't  work  by  the 
.  hour  or  by  the  day.  We  've  got  one  'hurrier'  in 
the  family,  and  that 's  enough  for  Lallie  Joy  'n' 
me!  Mis'  Popham  does  everything  right  on  the 
dot,  an'  Lallie  Joy  'n'  me  git  tumble  sick  o'  seein' 
that  dot,  'n'  hevin'  our  'tention  drawed  to  it  if  we 
don't  see  it.  Mis'  Bill  Harmon's  another  'hur- 
rier,'  —  well,  you  jest  ask  Bill,  that 's  all !  She 
an'  Mis'  Popham  hev  been  at  it  for  fifteen  years, 
but  the  village  ain't  ready  to  give  out  the  blue 
ribbon  yet.  Last  week  my  wife  went  over  to 
Harmon's  and  Mis'  Harmon  said  she  was  goin' 
to  make  some  molasses  candy  that  mornin'. 
Well,  my  wife  hurried  home,  put  on  her  molasses, 
made  her  candy,  cooled  it  and  worked  it,  and 
took  some  over  to  treat  Mis'  Harmon,  who  was 
jest  gittin'  her  kittle  out  from  under  the  sink!" 

The  Careys  laughed  heartily  at  this  evidence 
of  Mrs.  Popham's  celerity,  while  Osh,  as  pleased 
as  possible,  gave  one  dab  with  his  paste  brush 
and  went  on :  — 

"Maria 's  blood  was  up  one  while,  'cause  Mis' 
Bill  Harmon  always  contrives  to  git  her  wash  out 
the  earliest  of  a  Monday  morning.  Yesterday 
Maria  got  up  'bout  daybreak  (I  allers  tell  her  if 
she  was  real  forehanded  she  'd  eat  her  breakfast 
overnight),  and  by  half  past  five  she  hed  her 

157 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


clothes  in  the  boiler.  Jest  as  she  was  lookin'  out 
the  kitchen  winder  for  signs  o'  Mis'  Bill  Har- 
mon, she  seen  her  start  for  her  side  door  with 
a  big  basket.  Maria  was  so  mad  then  that  she 
vowed  she  would  n't  be  beat,  so  she  dug  for 
the  bedroom  and  slat  some  clean  sheets  and 
piller  cases  out  of  a  bureau  drawer,  run  into 
the  yard,  and  I  'm  blamed  if  she  did  n't  get 
'em  over  the  line  afore  Mis'  Harmon  found  her 
clothespins!" 

Good  old  Osh !  He  had  n't  had  such  an  audience 
for  years,  for  Beulah  knew  all  its  own  stories 
thoroughly,  and  although  it  valued  them  highly 
it  did  not  care  to  hear  them  too  often;  but  the 
Careys  were  absolutely  fresh  material,  and  such 
good,  appreciative  listeners !  Mrs.  Carey  looked 
so  handsome  when  she  wiped  the  tears  of  enjoy- 
ment from  her  eyes  that  Osh  told  Bill  Harmon 
if  't  wa'n't  agin  the  law  you  would  want  to  kiss 
her  every  time  she  laughed. 

Well,  the  hall  papering  was,  luckily,  to  be  paid 
for,  not  by  the  hour,  but  by  an  incredibly  small 
price  per  roll,  and  everybody  was  pleased.  Nancy, 
Kathleen,  and  Julia  sat  on  the  stairs  preparing  a 
whiteweed  and  buttercup  border  for  the  spare 
bedroom  according  to  a  plan  of  Mother  Carey's. 
It  was  an  affair  of  time,  as  it  involved  the  deli- 
cate cutting  out  of  daisy  garlands  from  a  wider 

158 


Jack  of  All  Trades 


bordering  filled  with  flowers  of  other  colors,  and 
proved  a  fascinating  occupation. 

Gilbert  hovered  on  the  outskirts  of  the  hall, 
doing  odd  jobs  of  one  sort  and  another  and  learn- 
ing bits  of  every  trade  at  which  Mr.  Popham  was 
expert. 

"If  we  had  n't  been  in  such  a  sweat  to  git  set- 
tled," remarked  Osh  with  a  clip  of  his  big  shears^ 
"I  really  'd  ought  to  have  plastered  this  front 
entry  all  over !  'T  wa'n't  callin'  for  paper  half  's 
loud  as  't  was  for  plaster.  Old  Parson  Bradley 
hed  been  a  farmer  afore  he  turned  minister,  and 
one  Sunday  mornin'  his  parish  was  thornin'  him 
to  pray  for  rain,  so  he  says:  'Thou  knowest,  O 
Lord!  it's  manure  this  land  wants,  'n'  not 
water,  but  in  Thy  mercy  send  rain  plenteously 
upon  us.'" 

"Mr.  Popham,"  said  Gilbert,  who  had  been 
patiently  awaiting  his  opportunity,  "the  pieces 
of  paper  are  cut  for  those  narrow  places  each  side 
of  the  front  door.  Can't  I  paste  those  on  while 
you  talk  to  us?" 

"  'Course  you  can,  handy  as  you  be  with  tools ! 
There  ain't  no  trick  to  it.  Most  anybody  can  be 
a  paperer.  As  Parson  Bradley  said  when  he  was 
talkin'  to  a  Sunday-school  during  a  presidential 
campaign:  'One  of  you  boys  perhaps  can  be  a 
George  Washington  and  another  may  rise  to 

159 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


be  a  Thomas  Jefferson;  any  of  you,  the  Lord 
knows,  can  be  a  James  K.  Polk!'" 

"I  don't  know  much  about  Polk,"  said  Gil- 
bert. 

"P'raps  nobody  did  very  much,  but  the 
parson  hated  him  like  p'ison.  See  here,  Peter, 
I  ain't  made  o'  paste!  You  've  used  up  'bout  a 
quart  a'ready!  What  are  you  doin'  out  there 
anyway?  I  've  heerd  o'  paintin'  the  town,  —  I 
guess  you  're  paperin'  it,  ain't  you?" 

Peter  was  too  busy  and  too  eager  for  paste  to 
reply,  the  facts  of  the  case  being  that  while  Mr. 
Popham  held  the  family  spellbound  by  his  con- 
versation, he  himself  was  papering  the  outside 
of  the  house  with  scraps  of  assorted  paper  as 
high  up  as  his  short  arms  could  reach. 

"There  's  another  thing  you  can  do,  Gilbert," 
continued  Mr.  Popham.  "I  've  mixed  a  pail  o' 
that  green  paint  same  as  your  mother  wanted, 
an'  I  've  brought  you  a  tip-top  brush.  The  set- 
tin'  room  has  a  good  nice  floor;  matched  boards, 
no  hummocks  nor  hollers,  —  all  as  flat  's  one  of 
my  wife's  pancakes,  —  an'  not  a  knot  hole  in  it 
anywheres.  You  jest  put  your  first  coat  on, 
brushin'  lengthways  o'  the  boards,  and  let  it  dry 
good.  Don't  let  your  folks  go  stepping  on  it, 
neither.  The  minute  a  floor  's  painted  women 
folks  are  crazy  to  git  int'  the  room.  They  want 

160 


Jack  of  All  Trades 


their  black  alpacky  that 's  in  the  closet,  an'  the 
lookin'  glass  that 's  on  the  mantelpiece,  or  the 
feather  duster  that 's  hangin'  on  the  winder,  an' 
will  you  jest  pass  out  the  broom  that 's  behind 
the  door?  The  next  mornin'  you  '11  find  lots  o' 
little  spots  where  they  've  tiptoed  in  to  see  if  the 
paint 's  dry  an'  how  it 's  goin'  to  look.  Where 
I  work,  they  most  allers  say  it 's  the  cat,  —  well ! 
that  answer  may  deceive  some  folks,  but  't 
would  n't  me.  —  Don't  slop  your  paint,  Gilbert; 
work  quick  an'  neat  an'  even;  then  paintin'  ain't 
no  trick  't  all.  Any  fool,  the  Lord  knows,  can 
pick  up  that  trade!  —  Now  I  guess  it's  about 
noon  time,  an'  I  '11  have  to  be  diggin'  for  home. 
Maria  sets  down  an'  looks  at  the  clock  from  half 
past  eleven  on.  She  '11  git  a  meal  o'  cold  pork 
'n'  greens,  cold  string  beans,  gingerbread,  'n' 
custard  pie  on  t'  the  table;  then  she  '11  stan'  in 
the  front  door  an'  holler:  'Hurry  up,  Ossian! 
it 's  struck  twelve  more  'n  two  minutes  ago,  'n' 
everything  's  gittin'  overdone!'" 

So  saying  he  took  off  his  overalls,  seized  his 
hat,  and  with  a  parting  salute  was  off  down  the 
road,  singing  his  favorite  song.  I  can  give  you 
the  words  and  the  time,  but  alas !  I  cannot  print 
Osh  Popham's  dauntless  spirit  and  serene  con- 
tent, nor  his  cheery  voice  as  he  travelled  with 
tolerable  swiftness  to  meet  his  waiting  Maria. 

161 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


m 


i 


1 


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Here  comes  a  maid -en    full    of    woe.     Hi  -  dum- di  -  dum 


iffe^ 


9 


did-dy  -  i  -    o  I  Here  comes  a    maid-en    full     of    woe. 


IE 


Ik  i    i 


mJJ  J  jijj 


P 


Hi   der  -  ry      01  Here  comes  a  maid-en  full  of     woe,  as 


IE 


ffl 


^^B 


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full  of  woe  as  she  can  go!  Hi  dum  did-dy  i  O  I  Hi   der-ry     01 


XVIII 

THE  HOUSE  OF  LORDS 

The  Carey  children  had  only  found  it  by  acci- 
dent. All  their  errands  took  them  down  the 
main  street  to  the  village;  to  the  Popham's  cot- 
tage at  the  foot  of  a  little  lane  turning  towards 
the  river,  or  on  to  the  post-office  and  Bill  Har- 
mon's store,  or  to  Colonel  Wheeler's  house  and 
then  to  the  railway  station.  One  afternoon 
Nancy  and  Kathleen  had  walked  up  the  road  in 
search  of  pastures  new,  and  had  spied  down  in 
a  distant  hollow  a  gloomy  grey  house  almost 
surrounded  by  cedars.  A  grove  of  poplars  to 
the  left  of  it  only  made  the  prospect  more 
depressing,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  a  great 
sheet  of  water  near  by,  floating  with  cow  lilies 
and  pond  lilies,  the  whole  aspect  of  the  place 
would  have  been  unspeakably  dreary. 

Nancy  asked  Mr.  Popham  who  lived  in  the 
grey  house  behind  the  cedars,  and  when  he  told 
them  a  certain  Mr.  Henry  Lord,  his  two  children 
and  housekeeper,  they  fell  into  the  habit  of 
speaking  of  the  place  as  the  House  of  Lords. 

"You  won't  never  see  nothin'  of  ?em,"  said 
Mr.  Popham.   "Henry  Lord  ain't  never  dark- 

163 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ened  the  village  for  years,  I  guess,  and  the  young 
ones  ain't  never  been  to  school  so  far;  they  have 
a  teacher  out  from  Portland  Tuesdays  and  Fri- 
days, and  the  rest  o'  the  week  they  study  up  for 
him.  Henry  's  'bout  as  much  of  a  hermit 's  if  he 
lived  in  a  hut  on  a  mounting,  an'  he  's  bring- 
ing up  the  children  so  they  '11  be  jest  as  odd 's 
he  is." 

"Is  the  mother  dead?"  Mrs.  Carey  asked. 

"Yes,  dead  these  four  years,  an'  a  good  job 
for  her,  too.  It 's  an  awful  queer  world !  Not 
that  I  could  make  a  better  one!  I  allers  say, 
when  folks  grumble,  '  Now  if  you  was  given  the 
materials,  could  you  turn  out  a  better  world  than 
this  is?  And  when  it  come  to  that,  what  if  you 
hed  to  furnish  your  own  materials,  same  as  the 
Lord  did!  I  guess  you  'd  be  put  to  it! '  —  Well, 
as  I  say,  it 's  an  awful  queer  world;  they  clap  all 
the  burglars  into  jail,  and  the  murderers  and  the 
wife-beaters  (I  've  allers  thought  a  gentle  re- 
proof would  be  enough  punishment  for  a  wife- 
beater,  'cause  he  probably  has  a  lot  o'  provoca- 
tion that  nobody  knows),  and  the  firebugs  (can't 
think  o'  the  right  name  —  something  like  een- 
denaries),  an'  the  breakers  o'  the  peace,  an'  what 
not ;  an'  yet  the  law  has  nothin'  to  say  to  a  man 
like  Hen  Lord !  He  's  been  a  college  professor, 
but  I  went  to  school  with  him,  darn  his  pieter, 

164 


The  House  of  Lords 


an*  I  '11  call  him  Hen  whenever  I  git  a  chance, 
though  he  does  declare  he  's  a  doctor." 

"Doctor  of  what?"  asked  Mrs,  Carey. 

"Blamed  if  I  know!  I  would  n't  trust  him  to 
doctor  a  sick  cat." 

"People  don't  have  to  be  doctors  of  medicine," 
interrupted  Gilbert.  "Grandfather  was  Alexan- 
der Carey,  LL.  D.,  —  Doctor  of  Laws,  that  is." 

Mr.  Popham  laid  down  his  brush.  "I  swan  to 
man!"  he  ejaculated.  "If  you  don't  work  hard 
you  can't  keep  up  with  the  times!  Doctor  of 
Laws !  Well,  all  I  can  say  is  they  need  doetorin', 
an'  I  'm  glad  they  've  got  round  to  'em;  only 
Hen  Lord  ain't  the  man  to  do  'em  any  good." 

"What  has  he  done  to  make  him  so  unpopu- 
lar?" queried  Mrs.  Carey. 

"Done?  He  ain't  done  a  thing  he  'd  oughter 
sence  he  was  born.  He  keeps  the  thou  shalt  not 
commandments  first  rate,  Hen  Lord  does!  He 
neglected  his  wife  and  froze  her  blood  and  fright- 
ened her  to  death,  poor  little  shadder!  He  give 
up  his  position  and  shut  the  family  up  in  that 
tomb  of  a  house  so  't  he  could  study  his  books. 
My  boy  knows  his  boy,  an'  I  tell  you  the  life  he 
leads  them  children  is  enough  to  make  your  flesh 
creep.  When  I  git  roun'  to  it  I  cal'late  to  set  the 
house  on  fire  some  night.  Mebbe  I  'd  be  lucky 
enough  to  ketch  Hen  too,  an'  if  so,  nobody  in 

165 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


the  village  'd  wear  mournin' !  So  fur,  I  can't  get 
Maria's  consent  to  be  a  cendenary.  She  says  she 
can't  spare  me  long  enough  to  go  to  jail;  she 
needs  me  to  work  durin'  the  summer,  an'  in  the 
winter  time  she  'd  hev  nobody  to  jaw,  if  I  was 
in  the  lockup."  This  information  was  delivered 
in  the  intervals  of  covering  the  guest  chamber 
walls  with  a  delightful  white  moire  paper  which 
Osh  always  alluded  to  as  the  "white  maria," 
whether  in  memory  of  his  wife's  Christian  name 
or  because  his  French  accent  was  not  up  to  the 
mark,  no  one  could  say. 

Mr.  Popham  exaggerated  nothing,  but  on  the 
contrary  left  much  unsaid  in  his  narrative  of  the 
family  at  the  House  of  Lords.  Henry  Lord,  with 
the  degree  of  Ph.D.  to  his  credit,  had  been  Pro- 
fessor of  Zoology  at  a  New  England  college,  but 
had  resigned  his  post  in  order  to  write  a  series 
of  scientific  text  books.  Always  irritable,  cold,  in- 
different, he  had  grown  rapidly  more  so  as  years 
went  on.  Had  his  pale,  timid  wife  been  a  rosy, 
plucky  tyrant,  things  might  have  gone  otherwise, 
but  the  only  memories  the  two  children  possessed 
were  of  bitter  words  and  reproaches  on  their 
father's  side,  and  of  tears  and  sad  looks  on  their 
mother's  part.  Then  the  poor  little  shadow  of  a 
woman  dropped  wearily  into  her  grave,  and 
a  certain  elderly  Mrs.   Bangs,  with  grey  hair 

166 


The  House  of  Lords 


and  firm  chin,  came  to  keep  house  and  do  the 
work. 

A  lonelier  creature  than  Olive  Lord  at  sixteen 
could  hardly  be  imagined.  She  was  a  tiny  thing 
for  her  years,  with  a  little  white  oval  face  and 
peaked  chin,  pronounced  eyebrows,  beautifully 
arched,  and  a  mass  of  tangled,  untidy  dark  hair. 
Her  only  interests  in  life  were  her  younger  bro- 
ther Cyril,  delicate  and  timid,  and  in  continual 
terror  of  his  father,  —  and  a  passion  for  draw- 
ing and  sketching  that  was  fairly  devouring  in 
its  intensity.  When  she  was  ten  she  "drew"  the 
cat  and  the  dog,  the  hens  and  chickens,  and  col- 
ored the  sketches  with  the  paints  her  mother 
provided.  Whatever  appealed  to  her  sense  of 
beauty  was  straightway  transferred  to  paper  or 
canvas.  Then  for  the  three  years  before  her 
mother's  death  there  had  been  surreptitious  les- 
sons from  a  Portland  teacher,  paid  for  out  of 
Mr.  Lord's  house  allowance;  for  one  of  his  chief 
faults  was  an  incredible  parsimony,  amounting 
almost  to  miserliness. 

"Something  terrible  will  happen  to  Olive, 
if  she  is  n't  taught  to  use  her  talent,"  Mrs. 
Lord  pleaded  to  her  husband.  "She  is  wild  to 
know  how  to  do  things.  She  makes  effort  af- 
ter effort,  trembling  with  eagerness,  and  when 
she  fails  to  reproduce  what  she  sees,  she  works 

167 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


herself  into  a  frenzy  of  grief  and  disappoint- 
ment." 

"You'd  better  give  her  lessons  in  self-con- 
trol," Mr.  Lord  answered.  "They  are  cheaper 
than  instruction  in  drawing,  and  much  more 
practical." 

So  Olive  lived  and  struggled  and  grew;  and 
luckily  her  talent  was  such  a  passion  that  no  cir- 
cumstances could  crush  or  extinguish  it.  She 
worked,  discovering  laws  and  making  rules  for 
herself,  since  she  had  no  helpers.  When  she 
could  not  make  a  rabbit  or  a  bird  look  "real "  on 
paper,  she  searched  in  her  father's  books  for  pic- 
tures of  its  bones.  "If  I  could  only  know  what 
it  is  like  inside,  Cyril,"  she  said,  "perhaps  its 
outside  wouldn't  look  so  flat!  O!  Cyril,  there 
must  be  some  better  way  of  doing;  I  just  draw 
the  outline  of  an  animal  and  then  I  put  hairs  or 
feathers  on  it.  They  have  no  bodies.  They 
could  n't  run  nor  move;  they  're  just  pasteboard." 

"Why  don't  you  do  flowers  and  houses,  Olive?  " 
inquired  Cyril  solicitously.  "And  people  paint 
fruit,  and  dead  fish  on  platters,  and  pitchers  of 
lemonade  with  ice  in, — why  don't  you  try  things 
like  those?" 

"I  suppose  they  're  easier,"  Olive  returned 
with  a  sigh,  "but  who  could  bear  to  do  them 
when  there  are  living,  breathing,  moving  things; 

168 


The  House  of  Lords 


things  that  puzzle  you  by  looking  different  every 
minute?  No,  I  '11  keep  on  trying,  and  when  you 
get  a  little  older  we  '11  run  away  together  and  live 
and  learn  things  by  ourselves,  in  some  place 
where  father  can  never  find  us ! " 

"He  would  n't  search,  so  don't  worry,"  replied 
Cyril  quietly,  and  the  two  looked  at  each  other 
and  knew  that  it  was  so. 

There,  in  the  cedar  hollow,  then,  lived  Olive 
Lord,  an  angry,  resentful,  little  creature  weighed 
down  by  a  fierce  sense  of  injury.  Her  gloomy 
young  heart  was  visited  by  frequent  storms  and 
she  looked  as  unlovable  as  she  was  unloved.  But 
Nancy  Carey,  never  shy,  and  as  eager  to  give 
herself  as  people  always  are  who  are  born  and 
bred  in  joy  and  love,  Nancy  hopped  out  of  Mo- 
ther Carey's  warm  nest  one  day,  and  fixing  her 
bright  eyes  and  sunny,  hopeful  glance  on  the 
lonely,  frowning  little  neighbor,  stretched  out  her 
hand  in  friendship.  Olive's  mournful  black  eyes 
met  Nancy's  sparkling  brown  ones.  Her  hand, 
so  marvellously  full  of  skill,  had  never  held  an- 
other's, and  she  was  desperately  self-conscious; 
but  magnetism  flowed  from  Nancy  as  electric 
currents  from  a  battery.  She  drew  Olive  to  her 
by  some  unknown  force  and  held  her  fast,  not 
realizing  at  the  moment  that  she  was  getting  as 
much  as  she  gave. 

160 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


The  first  interview,  purely  a  casual  one,  took 
place  on  the  edge  of  the  lily  pond  where  Olive 
was  sketching  frogs,  and  where  Nancy  went  for 
cat-o'-nine-tails.  It  proved  to  be  a  long  and 
intimate  talk,  and  when  Mrs.  Carey  looked  out 
of  her  bedroom  window  just  before  supper  she 
saw,  at  the  pasture  bars,  the  two  girls  with  their 
arms  round  each  other  and  their  cheeks  close 
together.  Nancy's  curly  chestnut  crop  shone 
in  the  sun,  and  Olive's  thick  black  plaits 
looked  blacker  by  contrast.  Suddenly  she  flung 
her  arms  round  Nancy's  neck,  and  with  a  sob 
darted  under  the  bars  and  across  the  fields  with- 
out a  backward  glance* 

A  few  moments  later  Nancy  entered  her 
mother's  room,  her  arms  filled  with  treasures 
from  the  woods  and  fields.  "Oh,  Motherdy ! "  she 
cried,  laying  down  her  flowers  and  taking  off 
her  hat.  "I  've  found  such  a  friend;  a  real  under- 
standing friend;  and  it's  the  girl  from  the  House 
of  Lords.  She  's  wonderful!  More  wonderful 
than  anybody  we've  ever  seen  anywhere,  and 
she  draws  better  than  the  teacher  in  Charles- 
town!  She's  older  than  I  am,  but  so  tiny  and 
sad  and  shy  that  she  seems  like  a  child.  Oh, 
mother,  there's  always  so  much  spare  room  in 
your  heart,  —  for  you  took  in  Julia  and  yet  we 
never  felt  the  difference,  —  won't  you  make  a 

170 


The  House  of  Lords 


place  for   Olive?    There   never  was   anybody- 
needed  you  so  much  as  she  does,  —  never." 

Have  you  ever  lifted  a  stone  and  seen  the 
pale,  yellow,  stunted  shoots  of  grass  under  it? 
And  have  you  gone  next  day  and  next,  and 
watched  the  little  blades  shoot  upward,  spread 
themselves  with  delight,  grow  green  and  wax 
strong;  and  finally,  warm  with  the  sun,  cool  with 
the  dew,  vigorous  with  the  flow  of  sap  in  their 
veins,  seen  them  wave  their  green  tips  in  the 
breeze?  That  was  what  happened  to  Olive 
Lord  when  she  and  Cyril  were  drawn  into  a 
different  family  circle,  and  ran  in  and  out  of 
the  Yellow  House  with  the  busy,  eager  group  of 
Mother  Carey's  chickens. 


XIX 

OLD  AND  NEW 

The  Yellow  House  had  not  always  belonged  to 
the  Hamiltons,  but  had  been  built  by  a  governor 
of  the  state  when  he  retired  from  public  office. 
He  lived  only  a  few  years,  and  it  then  passed 
into  the  hands  of  Lemuel  Hamilton's  grand- 
father, who  had  done  little  or  nothing  in  the  way 
of  remodelling  the  buildings. 

Governor  Weatherby  had  harbored  no  ex- 
traordinary ambition  regarding  architectural 
excellence,  for  he  was  not  a  rich  man;  he  had 
simply  built  a  large,  comfortable  Colonial 
house.  He  desired  no  gardens,  no  luxurious 
stables,  no  fountains  nor  grottoes,  no  bathroom 
(for  it  was  only  the  year  1810),  while  the  old 
oaken  bucket  left  nothing  to  be  desired  as  a 
means  of  dispensing  water  to  the  household. 
He  had  one  weakness,  however,  and  that  was 
a  wish  to  make  the  front  of  the  house  as  im- 
pressive as  possible.  The  window  over  the  front 
door  was  as  beautiful  a  window  as  any  in  the 
county,  and  the  doorway  itself  was  celebrated 
throughout  the  state.  It  had  a  wonderful  fan 
light  and  side  lights,  green  blind  doors  outside 

172 


Old  and  New 


of  the  white  painted  one  with  its  massive  brass 
knocker,  and  still  more  unique  and  impressive, 
it  had  for  its  approach,  semi-circular  stone  steps 
instead  of  the  usual  oblong  ones.  The  large 
blocks  of  granite  had  been  cut  so  that  each  of 
the  four  steps  should  be  smaller  than  the  one 
below  it;  and  when,  after  months  of  gossip  and 
suspense,  they  were  finally  laid  in  place,  their 
straight  edges  towards  the  house  and  their 
expensive  curved  sides  to  the  road,  a  procession 
of  curious  persons  in  wagons,  carryalls,  buggies, 
and  gigs  wound  their  way  past  the  premises. 
The  governor's  "circ'lar  steps"  brought  many 
pilgrims  down  the  main  street  of  Beulah  first  and 
last,  and  the  original  Hamiltons  had  been  very 
proud  of  them.  Pride  (of  such  simple  things  as 
stone  steps)  had  died  out  of  the  Hamilton  stock 
in  the  course-  of  years,  and  the  house  had  been 
so  long  vacant  that  no  one  but  Lemuel,  the 
Consul,  remembered  any  of  its  charming  fea- 
tures; but  Ossian  Popham,  when  he  pried  up  and 
straightened  the  ancient  landmarks,  had  much 
to  say  of  the  wonderful  steps. 

"There's  so  much  goin'  on  now-a-days,"  he 
complained,  as  he  puffed  and  pried  and  strained, 
and  rested  in  between,  "that  young  ones  won't 
amount  to  nothin',  fust  thing  you  know.  My 
boy  Digby  says  to  me  this  mornin',  when  I 

173 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


asked  him  if  he  was  goin'  to  the  County  Fair, 
'No,  Pop,  I  ain't  goin','  he  says,  'it's  the  same 
old  fair  every  year.'  Land  sakes!  when  I  was  a 
boy,  'bout  once  a  month,  in  warm  weather,  I 
used  to  ask  father  if  I  could  walk  to  the  other 
end  o'  the  village  and  look  at  the  governor's 
circ'lar  steps;  that  used  to  be  the  liveliest  enter- 
tainment parents  could  think  up  for  their  young 
ones,  an'  it  was  a  heap  livelier  than  two  sermons 
of  a  Sunday,  each  of  'em  an  hour  and  fifteen 
minutes  long." 

Digby,  a  lad  of  eighteen  and  master  of  only 
one  trade  instead  of  a  dozen,  like  his  father,  had 
been  deputed  to  paper  Mother  Carey's  bedroom 
while  she  moved  for  a  few  days  into  the  newly 
fitted  guest  room,  which  was  almost  too  beauti- 
ful to  sleep  in,  with  its  white  satiny  walls,  its 
yellow  and  green  garlands  hanging  from  the 
ceiling,  its  yellow  floor,  and  its  old  white  cham- 
ber set  repainted  by  the  faithful  and  clever 
Popham. 

The  chintz  parlor,  once  Governor  Weather- 
by's  study,  was  finished  too,  and  the  whole 
family  looked  in  at  the  doors  a  dozen  times  a 
day  with  admiring  exclamations.  It  had  six 
doors,  opening  into  two  entries,  one  small  bed- 
room, one  sitting  room,  one  cellar,  and  one  china 
closet;  a  passion  for  entrances  and  exits  having 

174 


Old  and  New 


been  the  whim  of  that  generation.  If  the  truth 
were  known,  Nancy  had  once  lighted  her  candle 
and  slipped  downstairs  at  midnight  to  sit  on  the 
parlor  sofa  and  feast  her  eyes  on  the  room's 
loveliness.  Gilbert  had  painted  the  white  mat- 
ting the  color  of  a  ripe  cherry.  Mrs.  Popham 
had  washed  and  ironed  and  fluted  the  old  white 
ruffled  muslin  curtains  from  the  Charlestown 
home,  and  they  adorned  the  four  windows.  It 
was  the  north  room,  on  the  left  as  you  entered 
the  house,  and  would  be  closed  during  the  cold 
winter  months,  so  it  was  fitted  entirely  for  sum- 
mer use  and  comfort.  The  old-fashioned  square 
piano  looked  in  its  element  placed  across  one 
corner,  with  the  four  tall  silver  candlesticks  and 
snuffer  tray  on  the  shining  mahogany.  All  the 
shabbiest  furniture,  and  the  Carey  furniture  was 
mostly  shabby,  was  covered  with  a  cheap,  gay 
chintz,  and  crimson  Jacqueminot  roses  clam- 
bered all  over  the  wall  paper,  so  that  the  room 
was  a  cool  bower  of  beauty. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hall  were  the  double 
parlors  of  the  governor's  time,  made  into  a  great 
living  room.  Here  was  Gilbert's  green  painted 
floor,  smooth  and  glossy,  with  braided  rugs 
bought  from  neighbors  in  East  Beulah;  here  all 
the  old-fashioned  Gilbert  furniture  that  the 
Careys  had  kept  during  their  many  wanderings; 

175 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


here  all  the  quaint  chairs  that  Mr.  Bill  Harmon 
could  pick  up  at  a  small  price;  here  were  two 
noble  fireplaces,  one  with  a  crane  and  iron  pot 
filled  with  flowers,  the  other  filled  sometimes 
with  sprays  of  green  asparagus  and  sometimes 
with  fragrant  hemlock  boughs.  The  paper  was 
one  in  which  green  rushes  and  cat-o'-nine-tails 
grew  on  a  fawn-colored  ground,  and  anything 
that  the  Careys  did  not  possess  for  the  family 
sitting  room  Ossian  Popham  went  straight  home 
and  made  in  his  barn.  He  could  make  a  barrel- 
chair  or  an  hour-glass  table,  a  box  lounge  and 
the  mattress  to  put  on  top  of  it,  or  a  low  table 
for  games  and  puzzles,  or  a  window  seat.  He 
could  polish  the  piano  and  then  sit  down  to  it 
and  play  "Those  Tassels  on  Her  Boots"  or 
"Marching  through  Georgia"  with  great  skill. 
He  could  paint  bunches  of  gold  grapes  and  leaves 
on  the  old-fashioned  high-backed  rocker,  and,  as 
soon  as  it  was  dry,  could  sit  down  in  it  and  en- 
tertain the  whole  family  without  charging  them 
a  penny. 

The  housewarming  could  not  be  until  the 
later  autumn,  Mrs.  Carey  had  decided,  for 
although  most  of  the  living  rooms  could  be 
finished,  Cousin  Ann's  expensive  improve- 
ments were  not  to  be  set  in  motion  until  Bill 
Harmon  heard  from  Mr.  Hamilton  that  his  ten- 

176 


Old  and  New 


ants  were  not  to  be  disturbed  for  at  least  three 
years. 

The  house,  which  was  daily  growing  into  a 
home,  was  full  of  the  busy  hum  of  labor  from 
top  to  bottom  and  from  morning  till  night,  and 
there  was  hardly  a  moment  when  Mother  Carey 
and  the  girls  were  not  transporting  articles  of 
furniture  through  the  rooms,  and  up  and  down 
the  staircases,  to  see  how  they  would  look  some- 
where else.  This,  indeed,  had  been  the  diversion 
of  their  simple  life  for  many  years,  and  was  just 
as  delightful,  in  their  opinion,  as  buying  new 
things.  Any  Carey,  from  mother  down  to  Peter, 
would  spring  from  his  chair  at  any  moment  and 
assist  any  other  Carey  to  move  a  sofa,  a  bureau, 
a  piano,  a  kitchen  stove,  if  necessary,  with  the 
view  of  determining  if  it  would  add  a  new  zest 
to  life  in  a  different  position. 

Not  a  word  has  been  said  thus  far  about  the 
Yellow  House  barn,  the  barn  that  the  "fool 
Hamilton  boys"  (according  to  Bill  Harmon's 
theories)  had  converted  from  a  place  of  prac- 
tical usefulness  and  possible  gain,  into  some- 
thing that  would  "make  a  cat  laugh";  but  it 
really  needs  a  chapter  to  itself.  You  remember 
that  Dr.  Holmes  says  of  certain  majestic  and 
dignified  trees  that  they  ought  to  have  a  Chris- 
tian name,  like  other  folks?    The  barn,  in  the 

177 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


same  way,  deserves  more  distinction  than  a 
paragraph,  but  et  this  moment  it  was  being 
used  as  a  storeroom  and  was  merely  awaiting 
its  splendid  destiny,  quite  unconscious  of  the 
future.  The  Hamilton  boys  were  no  doubt  as 
extravagant  and  thriftless  as  they  were  insane, 
but  the  Careys  sympathized  with  their  extrava- 
gance and  thriftlessness  and  insanity  so  heartily, 
in  this  particular,  that  they  could  hardly  conceal 
their  real  feelings  from  Bill  Harmon.  Nothing 
could  so  have  accorded  with  their  secret  desires 
as  the  "fool  changes"  made  by  the  "crazy 
Hamilton  boys";  light-hearted,  irresponsible, 
and  frivolous  changes  that  could  never  have 
been  compassed  by  the  Careys'  slender  income. 
They  had  no  money  to  purchase  horse  or  cow 
or  pig,  and  no  man  in  the  family  to  take  care  of 
them  if  purchased;  so  the  removal  of  stalls  and 
all  the  necessary  appurtenances  for  the  care  of 
cattle  was  no  source  of  grief  or  loss  to  them. 
A  good  floor  had  been  laid  over  the  old  one  and 
stained  to  a  dark  color;  the  ceiling,  with  its 
heavy  hand-hewn  beams,  was  almost  as  fine 
as  some  old  oak  counterpart  in  an  English  hall. 
Not  a  new  board  met  the  eye;  —  old  weathered 
lumber  everywhere,  even  to  the  quaint  settle- 
shaped  benches  that  lined  the  room.  There  was 
a  place  like  an  old-fashioned  "tie-up"  for  musi- 

178 


Old  and  New 


cians  to  play  for  a  country  dance,  or  for  tableaux 
and  charades;  in  fine,  there  would  be,  with  the 
addition  of  Carey  ideas  here  and  there,  provision 
for  frolics  and  diversions  of  any  sort.  You  no 
sooner  opened  the  door  and  peeped  in,  though 
few^of  the  Beulah  villagers  had  ever  been  in- 
vited to  do  so  by  the  gay  young  Hamiltons,  than 
your  tongue  spontaneously  exclaimed:  "What  a 
place  for  good  times!" 

"I  shall  'come  out'  here,"  Nancy  announced, 
as  the  three  girls  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  floor, 
surrounded  by  bedsteads,  tables,  bureaus,  and 
stoves.  "Julia,  you  can  'debut'  where  you  like, 
but  I  shall  'come  out'  here  next  summer!" 

"You'll  be  only  seventeen;  you  can't  come 
out!"  objected  Julia  conventionally. 

"Not  in  a  drawing  room,  perhaps,  but  per- 
fectly well  in  a  barn.  Even  you  and  Kitty, 
youthful  as  you  will  still  be,  can  attend  my 
coming  out  party,  in  a  barn!" 

"It  doesn't  seem  proper  to  think  of  giving 
entertainments  when  everybody  knows  our 
circumstances,  —  how  poor  we  are!"  Julia  said 
rebukingly. 

"We  are  talking  of  next  summer,  my  child! 
Who  can  say  how  rich  we  shall  be  next  summer? 
A  party  could  be  given  in  this  barn  with  mother 
to  play  the  piano  and  Mr.  Popham  the  fiddle. 

179 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


The  refreshments  would  be  incredibly  weak 
lemonade,  and  I  think  we  might  'solicit'  the 
cake,  as  they  do  for  church  sociables!" 

Julia's  pride  was  wounded  beyond  conceal- 
ment at  this  humorously  intended  suggestion  of 
Nancy's. 

"Of  course  if  Aunt  Margaret  approves,  I  have 
nothing  to  say,"  she  remarked,  "but  I  myself 
would  never  come  to  any  private  party  where 
refreshments  were  'solicited.'  The  very  idea  is 
horrible." 

"I'm  'coming  out'  in  the  barn  next  summer, 
Muddy!"  Nancy  called  to  her  mother,  who  just 
then  entered  the  door.  "If  we  are  poorer  than 
ever,  we  can  take  up  a  collection  to  defray  the 
expenses;  Julia  and  Kitty  would  look  so  attrac- 
tive going  about  with  tambourines !  I  want  to  do 
what  I  can  quickly,  because  I  see  plainly  I  shall 
have  to  marry  young  in  order  to  help  the  family. 
The  heroine  always  does  that  in  books;  she 
makes  a  worldly  marriage  with  a  rich  nobleman, 
in  order  that  her  sister  Kitty  and  her  cousin 
Julia  may  have  a  good  education." 

"I  don't  know  where  you  get  your  ideas, 
Nancy,"  said  her  mother,  smiling  at  her  non- 
sense. "You  certainly  never  read  half  a  dozen 
novels  in  your  life!" 

"No,  but  Joanna  used  to  read  them  by  the 
180 


Old  and  New 


hundred  and  tell  me  the  stories;  and  I've  heard 
father  read  aloud  to  you;  and  the  older  girls  and 
the  younger  teachers  used  to  discuss  them  at 
school ;  —  oh !  I  know  a  lot  about  life,  —  as  it 
is  in  books,  —  and  I  'm  just  waiting  to  see  if 
any  of  it  really  happens!" 

"Digby  Popham  is  the  only  rich  nobleman 
in  sight  for  you,  Nancy!"  Kitty  said  teasingly. 

"Or  freckled  Cyril  Lord,"  interpolated  Julia. 

"He  looks  like  an  unbaked  pie!"  This  from 
Kitty. 

Nancy  flushed.  "He's  shy  and  unhappy  and 
pale,  and  no  wonder;  but  he's  as  nice  and  inter- 
esting as  he  can  be." 

"I  can't  see  it,"  Julia  said,  "but  he  never 
looks  at  anybody,  or  talks  to  anybody  but  you, 
so  it's  well  you  like  him;  though  you  like  all 
boys,  for  that  matter!" 

"The  boys  return  the  compliment!"  asserted 
Kitty  mischievously,  "while  poor  you  and  I  sit 
in  corners!" 

"Come,  come,  dears,"  and  Mrs.  Carey  joined 
in  the  conversation  as  she  picked  up  a  pillow 
before  returning  to  the  house.  "  It 's  a  little  early 
for  you  to  be  talking  about  rich  noblemen,  is  n't 
it?" 

Nancy  followed  her  out  of  the  door,  saying 
as  she  thoughtfully  chewed  a  straw,  "Muddy,  I 

181 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


do  believe  that  when  you  're  getting  on  to  sixteen 
the  rich  nobleman  or  the  fairy  prince  or  the  won- 
derful youngest  son  does  cross  your  mind  now 
and  then!" 


XX 

THE  PAINTED  CHAMBER 

Matters  were  in  this  state  of  forwardness  when 
Nancy  and  Kathleen  looked  out  of  the  window 
one  morning  and  saw  Lallie  Joy  Popham  coming 
down  the  street.  She  "lugged"  butter  and  milk 
regularly  to  the  Careys  (lugging  is  her  own 
word  for  the  act),  and  helped  them  in  many 
ways,  for  she  was  fairly  good  at  any  kind  of 
housework  not  demanding  brains.  Nobody 
could  say  why  some  of  Ossian  Popham's  gifts 
of  mind  and  conversation  had  not  descended  to 
his  children,  but  though  the  son  was  not  really 
stupid  at  practical  work,  Lallie  Joy  was  in  a 
perpetual  state  of  coma. 

Nancy,  as  has  been  intimated  before,  had  a 
kind  of  tendency  to  reform  things  that  appeared 
to  her  lacking  in  any  way,  and  she  had  early  seized 
upon  the  stolid  Lallie  Joy  as  a  worthy  object. 

"There  she  comes!"  said  Nancy.  "She  car- 
ries two  quarts  of  milk  in  one  hand  and  two 
pounds  of  butter  in  the  other,  exactly  as  if  she 
was  bending  under  the  weight  of  a  load  of  hay. 
I'll  run  down  into  the  kitchen  and  capture  her 
for  a  half  hour  at  five  cents.    She  can  peel  the 

183 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


potatoes  first,  and  while  they're  boiling  she  can 
slice  apples  for  sauce." 

"Have  her  chop  the  hash,  do!"  coaxed  Julia, 
for  that  was  her  special  work.  "The  knife  is 
dull  beyond  words." 

"Why  don't  you  get  Mr.  Popham  to  sharpen 
it?  It's  a  poor  workman  that  complains  of  his 
tools;  Columbus  discovered  America  in  an  open 
boat,"  quoted  Nancy,  with  an  irritating  air  of 
wisdom. 

"That  may  be  so,"  Julia  retorted,  "but 
Columbus  would  never  have  discovered  America 
with  that  chopping-knife,  I  'm  sure  of  that.  —  Is 
Lallie  Joy  about  our  age?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  must  have  been  at  least 
forty  when  she  was  born,  and  that  would  make 
her  fifty-five  now.  What  do  you  suppose  would 
wake  her  up?  If  I  could  only  get  her  to  stand 
straight,  or  hold  her  head  up,  or  let  her  hair 
down,  or  close  her  mouth!  I  believe  I'll  stay  in 
the  kitchen  and  appeal  to  her  better  feelings  a 
little  this  morning;  I  can  seed  the  raisins  for  the 
bread  pudding." 

Nancy  sat  in  the  Shaker  rocker  by  the  sink 
window  with  the  yellow  bowl  in  her  lap.  Her 
cheeks  were  pink,  her  eyes  were  bright,  her  lips 
were  red,  her  hair  was  goldy-brown,  her  fingers 
flew,  and  a  high-necked  gingham  apron  was  as 

184 


The  Painted  Chamber 


becoming  to  her  as  it  is  to  all  nice  girls.  She  was 
thoroughly  awake,  was  Nancy,  and  there  could 
not  have  been  a  greater  contrast  than  that 
between  her  and  the  comatose  Lallie  Joy,  who 
sat  on  a  wooden  chair  with  her  feet  on  the  side 
rounds.  She  had  taken  off  her  Turkey  red  sun- 
bonnet  and  hung  it  on  the  chair-back,  where  its 
color  violently  assaulted  her  flaming  locks.  She 
sat  wrong;  she  held  the  potato  pan  wrong,  and 
the  potatoes  and  the  knife  wrong.  There  seemed 
to  be  no  sort  of  connection  between  her  mind 
and  her  body.  As  she  peeled  potatoes  and  Nancy 
seeded  raisins,  the  conversation  was  something 
like  this. 

"How  did  you  chance  to  bring  the  butter 
to-day  instead  of  to-morrow,  Lallie  Joy?" 

"Had  to  dress  me  up  to  go  to  the  store  and 
get  a  new  hat." 

"What  colored  trimming  did  you  get?" 

"Same  as  old." 

"Don't  they  keep  anything  but  magenta?" 

"Yes,  blue." 

"Why  did  n't  you  try  blue  for  a  change?" 

"Dunno;  did  n't  want  any  change,  I  guess." 

"Do  you  like  magenta  against  your  hair?" 

"Never  thought  o'  my  hair;  jest  thought  o' 
my  hat." 

"Well,  you  see,  Lallie  Joy,  you  can't  change 
185 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


your  hair,  but  you  need  n't  wear  magenta  hats 
nor  red  sunbonnets.  Your  hair  is  handsome 
enough,  if  you'd  only  brush  it  right." 

"I  guess  I  know  all  'bout  my  hair  and  how 
red  't  is.  The  boys  ask  me  if  Pop  painted  it." 

"Why  do  you  strain  it  back  so  tight?" 

"Keep  it  out  o'  my  eyes." 

"Nonsense;  you  need  n't  drag  it  out  by  the 
roots.  Why  do  you  tie  the  braids  with  strings?" 

"'Cause  they  hold,  an'  I  hain't  got  no  rib- 
bons." 

"Why  don't  you  buy  some  with  the  money 
you  earn  here?" 

"Savin' up  for  the  Fourth." 

"Well,  I  have  yards  of  old  Christmas  ribbons 
that  I'll  give  you  if  you'll  use  them." 

"All  right." 

"What  do  you  scrub  your  face  with,  that 
makes  those  shiny  knobs  stick  right  out  on  your 
forehead  and  cheek  bones?" 

"Sink  soap." 

"Well,  you  shouldn't;  haven't  you  any 
other?" 

"It's  upstairs." 

"Are  n't  your  legs  in  good  working  order?" 

Uncomprehending  silence  on  Lallie  Joy's  part 
and  then  Nancy  returned  to  the  onslaught. 

"Don't  you  like  to  look  at  pretty  things?" 
186 


The  Painted  Chamber 


"Dunno  but  I  do,  an'  dunno  as  I  do." 

"Don't  you  love  the  rooms  your  father  has 
finished  here?" 

"Kind  of." 

"Not  any  more  than  that?" 

"Pop  thinks  some  of  'em's  queer,  an'  so  does 
Bill  Harmon." 

Long  silence,  Nancy  being  utterly  daunted. 

"How  did  you  come  by  your  name,  Lallie  Joy? " 

"Lallie's  out  of  a  book  named  Lallie  Rook,  an' 
I  was  born  on  the  Joy  steamboat  line  going  to 
Boston." 

"Oh,  I  thought  Joy  was  Joy!" 

"Joy  Line's  the  only  joy  I  ever  heard  of!" 

There  is  no  knowing  how  long  this  depressing 
conversation  would  have  continued  if  the  two 
girls  had  not  heard  loud  calls  from  Gilbert  up- 
stairs. Lallie  Joy  evinced  no  surprise,  and  went 
on  peeling  potatoes;  she  might  have  been  a 
sister  of  the  famous  Casabianca,  and  she  cer- 
tainly could  have  been  trusted  not  to  flee  from 
any  burning  deck,  whatever  the  provocation. 

"Come  and  see  what  we've  found,  Digby  and 
I!"  Gilbert  cried.  "Come,  girls;  come,  mother! 
We  were  stripping  off  the  paper  because  Mr. 
Popham  said  there 'd  been  so  many  layers  on 
the  walls  it  would  be  a  good  time  to  get  to  the 
bottom  of  it  and  have  it  all  fresh  and  clean. 

187 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


So  just  now,  as  I  was  working  over  the  mantel- 
piece and  Digby  on  the  long  wall,  look  in  and  see 
what  we  uncovered!" 

Mrs.  Carey  had  come  from  the  nursery,  Kitty 
and  Julia  from  the  garden,  and  Osh  Popham 
from  the  shed,  and  they  all  gazed  with  joy  and 
surprise  at  the  quaint  landscapes  that  had  been 
painted  in  water  colors  before  the  day  of  wall 
paper  had  come. 

Mr.  Popham  quickly  took  one  of  his  tools  and 
began  on  another  side  of  the  room.  They  worked 
slowly  and  carefully,  and  in  an  hour  or  two  the 
pictures  stood  revealed,  a  little  faded  in  color 
but  beautifully  drawn,  with  almost  nothing  of 
any  moment  missing  from  the  scenes. 

"  Je-roosh-y !  ain't  they  handsome! "  exclaimed 
Osh,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room  with 
the  family  surrounding  him  in  various  attitudes 
of  ecstasy.  "  But  they  're  too  faded  out  to  leave 's 
they  be,  ain't  they,  Mis'  Carey?  You'll  have 
to  cover  'em  up  with  new  paper,  won't  you,  or 
shall  you  let  me  put  a  coat  of  varnish  on  'em?" 

Mrs.  Carey  shuddered  internally.  "No,  Mr. 
Popham,  we  must  n't  have  any  '  shine '  on  the 
landscapes.  Yes,  they  are  dreadfully  dim  and 
faded,  but  I  simply  cannot  have  them  covered 
up!" 

"It  would  be  wicked  to  hide  them!"  said 
188 


The  Painted  Chamber 


Nancy.  "Oh,  Muddy,  is  it  our  duty  to  write 
to  Mr.  Hamilton  and  tell  him  about  them?  He 
would  certainly  take  the  house  away  from  us  if 
he  could  see  how  beautiful  we  have  made  it, 
and  now  here  is  another  lovely  thing  to  tempt 
him.  Could  anybody  give  up  this  painted  cham- 
ber if  it  belonged  to  him?" 

"Well,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Popham  assuringly, 
"if  you  want  to  use  this  painted  chamber  much, 
you've  got  to  live  in  Beulah;  an'  Lem  Hamilton 
ain't  goin'  to  stop  consullin'  at  the  age  o'  fifty, 
to  come  here  an'  rust  out  with  the  rest  of  us;  — 
no,  siree !  Nor  Mis'  Lem  Hamilton  would  n't 
stop  over  night  in  this  village  if  you  give  her 
the  town  drinkin'  trough  for  a  premium!" 

"Is  she  fashionable?"  asked  Julia. 

"You  bet  she  is!  She's  tall  an'  slim  an'  so 
chuck  full  of  airs  she'd  blow  away  if  you  give 
her  a  puff  o'  the  bellers !  The  only  time  she  come 
here  she  stayed  just  twenty-four  hours,  but  she 
nearly  died,  we  was  all  so  'vulgar.'  She  wore  a 
white  dress  ruffled  up  to  the  waist,  and  a  white 
Alpine  hat,  an'  she  looked  exactly  like  the  pic- 
ture of  Pike's  Peak  in  my  stereopticon.  Mis' 
Popham  overheard  her  say  Beulah  was  full  o' 
savages  if  not  cannibals.  'Well,'  I  says  to  Maria, 
'  no  matter  where  she  goes,  nobody  '11  ever  want 
to  eat  her  alive ! '  —  Look  at  that  meetin'  house 

189 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


over  the  mantel  shelf,  an'  that  grassy  Common 
an'  elm  trees !  'T  wa'n't  no  house  painter  done 
these  walls!" 

"And  look  at  this  space  between  the  two  front 
windows,"  cried  Kathleen.  "See  the  hens  and 
chickens  and  the  Plymouth  Rock  rooster!" 

"And  the  white  calf  lying  down  under  the 
maple;  he's  about  the  prettiest  thing  in  the 
room,"  said  Gilbert. 

"We  must  just  let  it  be  and  think  it  out," 
said  Mother  Carey.  "Don't  put  any  new  paper 
on,  now;  there's  plenty  to  do  downstairs." 

"I  don't  know  's  I  should  particularly  like  to 
lay  abed  in  this  room,"  said  Osh,  his  eyes  roving 
about  the  chamber  judicially.  "I  should  n't  hev 
no  comfort  ondressin'  here,  nohow;  not  with  this 
mess  o'  live  stock  lookin'  at  me  every  minute, 
whatever  I  happened  to  be  takin'  off.  I  s'pose 
that  rooster  'd  be  right  on  to  his  job  at  sun-up ! 
Well,  he  could  n't  git  ahead  of  Mis'  Popham, 
that's  one  thing;  so't  I  should  n't  be  any  worse 
off  'n  I  be  now!  I  don't  get  any  too  much  good 
sleep  as  't  is !  Mis'  Popham  makes  me  go  to  bed 
long  afore  I'm  ready,  so't  she  can  git  the  house 
shut  up  in  good  season;  then  'bout  's  soon's  I've 
settled  down  an'  hed  one  short  nap  she  says, 
'It's  time  you  was  up,  Ossian!'" 

"Mother!  I  have  an  idea!"  cried  Nancy  sud- 
190 


The  Painted  Chamber 


denly,  as  Mr.  Popham  took  his  leave  and  the 
family  went  out  into  the  hall.  "Do  you  know 
who  could  make  the  walls  look  as  they  used  to? 
My  dear  Olive  Lord!" 

"She's  only  sixteen!"  objected  Mrs.  Carey. 

"But  she's  a  natural  born  genius!  You  wait 
and  see  the  things  she  does ! " 

"Perhaps  I  could  take  her  into  town  and  get 
some  suggestions  or  some  instruction,  with  the 
proper  materials,"  said  Mrs.  Carey,  "and  I 
suppose  she  could  experiment  on  some  small 
space  behind  the  door,  first?" 

"Nothing  that  Olive  does  would  ever  be  put 
behind  anybody's  door,"  Nancy  answered  de- 
cisively. "I'm  not  old  enough  to  know  any- 
thing about  painting,  of  course  (except  that  good 
landscapes  ought  not  to  be  reversible  like  our 
Van  Twiller) ,  but  there 's  something  about  Olive's 
pictures  that  makes  you  want  to  touch  them 
and  love  them!" 

So  began  the  happiest,  most  wonderful,  most 
fruitful  autumn  of  Olive  Lord's  life,  when  she 
spent  morning  after  morning  in  the  painted 
chamber,  refreshing  its  faded  tints.  Whoever 
had  done  the  original  work  had  done  it  lovingly 
and  well,  and  Olive  learned  many  a  lesson  while 
she  was  following  the  lines  of  the  quaint  houses, 
like  those  on  old  china,  renewing  the  green  of 

191 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


the  feathery  elms,  or  retracing  and  coloring 
the  curious  sampler  trees  that  stood  straight 
and  stiff  like  sentinels  in  the  corners  of  the 
room. 


XXI 

A  FAMILY  RHOMBOID 

The  Honorable  Lemuel  Hamilton  sat  in  the 
private  office  of  the  American  Consulate  in 
Breslau,  Germany,  one  warm  day  in  July.  The 
post  had  been  brought  in  half  an  hour  before, 
and  he  had  two  open  letters  on  the  desk  in  front 
of  him.  It  was  only  ten  o'clock  of  a  bright 
morning,  but  he  looked  tired  and  worn.  He  was 
about  fifty,  with  slightly  grey  hair  and  smoothly 
shaven  face.  He  must  have  been  merry  at  one 
time  in  his  life,  for  there  were  many  nice  little 
laughing-wrinkles  around  his  eyes,  but  somehow 
these  seemed  to  have  faded  out,  as  if  they  had 
not  been  used  for  years,  and  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  turned  down  to  increase  the  look  of 
weariness  and  discontent. 

A  smile  had  crept  over  his  face  at  his  old  friend 
Bill  Harmon's  spelling  and  penmanship,  for  a 
missive  of  that  kind  seldom  came  to  the  American 
Consulate.  When  the  second  letter  postmarked 
Beulah  first  struck  his  eye,  he  could  not  imagine 
why  he  should  have  another  correspondent  in 
the  quaintly  named  little  village.  He  had  read 
Nancy's  letter  twice  now,  and  still  he  sat  smok- 

193 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ing  and  dreaming  with  an  occasional  glance  at 
the  girlish  handwriting,  or  a  twinkle  of  the  eye 
at  the  re-reading  of  some  particular  passage. 
His  own  girls  were  not  ready  writers,  and  their 
mother  generally  sent  their  messages  for  them. 
Nancy  and  Kitty  did  not  yet  write  nearly  as 
well  as  they  talked,  but  they  contrived  to 
express  something  of  their  own  individuality  in 
their  communications,  which  were  free  and  flu- 
ent, though  childlike  and  crude. 

"What  a  nice  girl  this  Nancy  Carey  must  be!" 
thought  the  American  Consul.  "This  is  such 
a  jolly,  confidential,  gossipy,  winsome  little 
letter!  Her  first  'business  letter'  she  calls  it! 
Alas!  when  she  learns  how,  a  few  years  later, 
there  will  be  no  charming  little  confidences;  no 
details  of  family  income  and  expenditures;  no 
tell-tale  glimpses  of  'mother'  and  'Julia.'  I 
believe  I  should  know  the  whole  family  even 
without  this  photograph !  —  The  lady  sitting 
in  the  chair,  to  whom  the  photographer's  snap- 
shot has  not  done  justice,  is  worthy  of  Nancy's 
praise,  —  and  Bill  Harmon's.  What  a  pretty, 
piquant,  curly  head  Nancy  has!  What  a  gay, 
vivacious,  alert,  spirited  expression.  The  boy  is 
handsome  and  gentlemanly,  but  he'll  have  to 
wake  up,  or  Nancy  will  be  the  man  of  the  family. 
The  girl  sitting  down  is  less  attractive.    She's 

194 


A  Family  Rhomboid 


Uncle  Allan's  daughter,  and"  (consulting  the 
letter)  "Uncle  Allan  has  nervous  prostration 
and  all  of  mother's  money."  Here  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton gave  vent  to  audible  laughter  for  the  third 
time  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  "Nancy  does  n't 
realize  with  what  perfection  her  somewhat 
imperfect  English  states  the  case,"  he  thought. 
"I  know  Uncle  Allan  like  a  book,  from  his  resem- 
blance to  certain  other  unfortunate  gentlemen 
who  have  nervous  prostration  in  combination 
with  other  people's  money.  Let's  see!  I  know 
Nancy;  friendly  little  Nancy,  about  fifteen  or 
sixteen,  I  should  judge;  I  know  Uncle  Allan's 
'Julia,'  who  hems  in  photographs,  but  not  other- 
wise; I  know  Gilbert,  who  is  depressed  at  hav- 
ing to  make  his  own  way;  the  small  boy," who 
'is  the  nicest  of  us  all';  Kitty,  who  beat  all  the 
others  in  getting  to  mother's  shoulder;  and  the 
mother  herself,  who  is  beautiful,  and  does  n't 
say  \  Bosh '  to  her  children's  ideas,  and  refuses  to 
touch  the  insurance  money,  and  wants  Gilbert 
to  show  what  'father's  son'  can  do  without  any- 
body's help,  and  who  revels  in  the  color  and 
joy  of  a  yellow  wall  paper  at  twenty  cents  a 
roll!  Bless  their  simple  hearts!  They  must  n't 
pay  any  rent  while  they  are  bringing  water  into 
the  kitchen  and  making  expensive  improve- 
ments! And  what  Hamilton  could  be  persuaded 

195 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


to  live  in  the  yellow  house?  To  think  of  any 
one's  wanting  to  settle  down  in  that  little 
deserted  spot,  Beulah,  where  the  only  sound  that 
ever  strikes  one's  ear  is  Osh  Popham's  laugh  or 
the  tinkle  of  a  cow  bell!  Oh!  if  my  own  girls 
would  write  me  letters  like  this,  letting  me  see 
how  their  minds  are  growing,  how  they  are  tak- 
ing hold  of  life,  above  all  what  is  in  their  hearts ! 
Well,  little  Miss  Nancy  Carey!  honest,  out- 
spoken, confidential,  clever  little  Nancy,  who 
calls  me  her  '  dearest  Mr.  Hamilton '  and  thanks 
me  for  letting  her  live  in  my  yellow  house,  you 
shall  never  be  disturbed,  and  if  you  and  Gilbert 
ever  earn  enough  money  to  buy  it,  it  shall  go 
to  you  cheap !  There 's  not  one  of  my  brood  that 
would  live  in  it  —  except  Tom,  perhaps  —  for 
after  spending  three  hundred  dollars,  they  even 
got  tired  of  dancing  in  the  barn  on  Saturday 
nights;  so  if  it  can  fall  into  the  hands  of  some 
one  who  will  bring  a  blessing  on  it,  good  old 
Granny  Hamilton  will  rest  peacefully  in  her 
grave!" 

We  have  discoursed  in  another  place  of  family 
circles,  but  it  cannot  be  truthfully  said  that  at 
any  moment  the  Lemuel  Hamiltons  had  ever 
assumed  that  symmetrical  and  harmonious 
shape.    Still,  during  the  first  eight  or  ten  years 

196 

t 


A  Family  Rhomboid 


of  their  married  life,  when  the  children  were 
young,  they  had  at  least  appeared  to  the  casual 
eye  as,  say,  a  rectangular  parallelogram.  A  little 
later  the  cares  and  jolts  of  life  wrenched  the 
right  angles  a  trifle  "out  of  plumb,"  and  a 
rhomboid  was  the  result.  Mrs.  Hamilton  had 
money  of  her  own,  but  wished  Lemuel  to  amass 
enough  fame  and  position  to  match  it.  She  liked 
a  diplomatic  life  if  her  husband  could  be  an 
ambassador,  but  she  thought  him  strangely  slow 
in  achieving  this  dignity.  No  pleasure  or  pride 
in  her  husband's  ability  to  serve  his  country, 
even  in  a  modest  position,  ever  crossed  her  mind. 
She  had  no  desire  to  spend  her  valuable  time 
in  various  poky  Continental  towns,  and  she  had 
many  excuses  for  not  doing  so;  the  proper  edu- 
cation of  her  children  being  the  chief  among 
them.  Luckily  for  her,  good  and  desirable 
schools  were  generally  at  an  easy  distance  from 
the  jewellers'  shops  and  the  dressmakers'  and 
milliners'  establishments  her  soul  loved,  so 
while  Mr.  Hamilton  did  his  daily  task  in  Ant- 
werp, Mrs.  Hamilton  resided  mostly  in  Brussels 
or  Paris;  when  he  was  in  Zittau,  in  Saxony,  she 
was  in  Dresden.  If  he  were  appointed  to  some 
business  city  she  remained  with  him  several 
months  each  year,  and  spent  the  others  in  a 
more  artistic  and  fashionable  locality.  The  situ- 

197 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ation  was  growing  difficult  because  the  children 
were  gradually  getting  beyond  school  age, 
although  there  still  remained  to  her  the  sacred 
duty  of  settling  them  properly  in  life.  Agnes, 
her  mother's  favorite,  was  still  at  school,  and 
was  devoted  to  foreign  languages,  foreign  man- 
ners, and  foreign  modes  of  life.  Edith  had  grown 
restless  and  developed  an  uncomfortable  fond- 
ness for  her  native  land,  so  that  she  spent  most 
of  her  time  with  her  mother's  relatives  in  New 
York,  or  in  visiting  school  friends  here  or  there. 
The  boys  had  gone  far  away;  Jack,  the  elder, 
to  Texas,  where  he  had  lost  what  money  his 
father  and  mother  had  put  into  his  first  business 
venture;  Thomas,  the  younger,  to  China,  where 
he  was  woefully  lonely,  but  doing  well  in  busi- 
ness. A  really  good  diplomatic  appointment  in  a 
large  and  important  city  would  have  enabled 
Mr.  Hamilton  to  collect  some  of  his  scattered 
sons  and  daughters  and  provide  them  with  the 
background  for  which  his  wife  had  yearned 
without  ceasing  (and  very  audibly)  for  years. 
But  Mr.  Hamilton  did  not  get  the  coveted 
appointment,  and  Mrs.  Hamilton  did  not  spe- 
cially care  for  Mr.  Hamilton  when  he  failed  in 
securing  the  things  she  wanted.  This  was  the 
time  when  the  laughing-wrinkles  began  to  fade 
away  from  Mr.  Hamilton's  eyes,  just  for  lack  of 

198 


A  Family  Rhomboid 


daily  use;  and  it  was  then  that  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  began  to  turn  down,  and  his  shoulders 
to  stoop,  and  his  eye  to  grow  less  keen  and  brave, 
and  his  step  less  vigorous.  It  may  be  a  common- 
place remark,  but  it  is  not  at  these  precise 
moments  in  life  that  tired,  depressed  men  in 
modest  positions  are  wafted  by  Uncle  Sam  to 
great  and  desirable  heights;  but  to  Mrs.  Ham- 
ilton it  appeared  that  her  husband  was  simply 
indolent,  unambitious,  and  unlucky;  not  at  all 
that  he  needed  to  be  believed  in,  or  loved,  or 
comforted,  or  helped,  or  braced!  It  might  have 
startled  her,  and  hurt  her  wifely  pride,  if  she 
had  seen  her  lonely  husband  drinking  in  little 
Nancy  Carey's  letter  as  if  it  were  dew  to  a 
thirsty  spirit;  to  see  him  set  the  photograph 
of  the  Carey  group  on  his  desk  and  look  at  it 
from  time  to  time  affectionately,  as  if  he  had 
found  some  new  friends.  It  was  the  content- 
ment, the  hope,  the  unity,  the  pluck,  the  mutual 
love,  the  confidence,  the  ambition,  of  the  group 
that  touched  his  imagination  and  made  his  heart 
run  out  to  them.  "Airs  from  the  Eden  of  youth 
awoke  and  stirred  in  his  soul"  as  he  took  his  pen 
to  answer  Nancy's  first  business  communica- 
tion. 

Having  completed  his  letter  he  lighted  an- 
other cigar,  and  leaning  back  in  his  revolving 

199 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


chair  clasped  his  hands  behind  his  head  and  fell 
into  a  reverie.  The  various  diplomatic  posts 
that  might  be  opened  to  him  crossed  his  mind 
in  procession.  If  A  or  B  or  C  were  possible,  his 
wife  would  be  content,  and  their  combined  in- 
comes might  be  sufficient  to  bring  the  children 
together,  if  not  quite  under  one  roof,  then  to 
points  not  so  far  separated  from  each  other  but 
that  a  speaking  acquaintance  might  be  devel- 
oped. Tom  was  the  farthest  away,  and  he  was 
the  dearest;  the  only  Hamilton  of  the  lot;  the 
only  one  who  loved  his  father. 

Mr.  Hamilton  leaned  forward  abstractedly, 
and  fumbling  through  one  drawer  of  his  desk 
after  another  succeeded  in  bringing  out  a  photo- 
graph of  Tom,  taken  at  seventeen  or  eighteen. 
Then  by  a  little  extra  search  he  found  his  wife 
in  her  presentation  dress  at  a  foreign  court. 
There  was  no  comfort  or  companionship  in  that, 
it  was  too  furbelowed  to  be  anybody's  wife,  — 
but  underneath  it  in  the  same  frame  was  one 
taken  just  after  their  marriage.  That  was  too 
full  of  memories  to  hold  much  joy,  but  it  stirred 
his  heart,  and  made  it  beat  a  little;  enough  at 
any  rate  to  show  it  was  not  dead.  In  the  letter 
case  in  his  vest  pocket  was  an  almost  forgotten 
picture  of  the  girls  when  they  were  children. 
This  with  the  others  he  stood  in  a  row  in  front 

200 


A  Family  Rhomboid 


of  him,  reminding  himself  that  he  did  not  know 
the  subjects  much  more  intimately  than  the 
photographers  who  had  made  their  likenesses. 
He  glanced  from  one  family  to  the  other  and 
back  again,  several  times.  The  Careys  were 
handsomer,  there  was  no  doubt  of  that;  but 
there  was  a  deeper  difference  that  eluded  him. 
The  Hamiltons  were  far  more  stylishly  dressed, 
but  they  all  looked  a  little  conscious  and  a  little 
discontented.  That  was  it;  the  Careys  were 
happier!  There  were  six  of  them,  living  in  the 
forgotten  Hamilton  house  in  a  half-deserted 
village,  on  five  or  six  hundred  dollars  a  year, 
and  doing  their  own  housework,  and  they  were 
happier  than  his  own  brood,  spending  forty  or 
fifty  times  that  sum.  Well,  they  were  grown  up, 
his  sons  and  daughters,  and  the  only  change  in 
their  lives  now  would  come  from  wise  or  unwise 
marriages.  No  poverty-stricken  sons-in-law 
would  ever  come  into  the  family,  with  Mrs. 
Hamilton  standing  at  the  bars,  he  was  sure  of 
that!  As  for  the  boys,  they  might  choose  their 
mates  in  Texas  or  China;  they  might  even  have 
chosen  them  now,  for  aught  he  knew,  though 
Jack  was  only  twenty-six  and  Tom  twenty-two. 
He  must  write  to  them  oftener,  all  of  them,  no 
matter  how  busy  and  anxious  he  might  be; 
especially  to  Tom,  who  was  so  far  away. 

201 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


He  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  towards  him,  and 
having  filled  it,  another,  and  yet  another.  Hav- 
ing folded  and  slipped  it  into  an  envelope  and 
addressed  it  to  Thomas  Hamilton,  Esq.,  Hong 
Kong,  China,  he  was  about  to  seal  it  when  he 
stopped  a  moment.  "  I  '11  enclose  the  little  Carey 
girl's  letter,"  he  thought.  "Tom's  the  only  one 
who  cares  a  penny  for  the  old  house,  and  I've 
told  him  I  have  rented  it.  He's  a  generous  boy, 
and  he  won't  grudge  a  few  dollars  lost  to  a  good 
cause.  Besides,  these  Careys  will  increase  the 
value  of  the  property  every  year  they  live  in  it, 
and  without  them  the  buildings  would  gradually 
have  fallen  into  ruins."  He  added  a  postscript 
to  his  letter,  saying:  "I've  sent  you  little  Miss 
Nancy's  letter,  the  photograph  of  her  tying  up 
the  rambler  rose,  and  the  family  group;  so  that 
you  can  see  exactly  what  influenced  me  to  write 
her  (and  Bill  Harmon)  that  they  should  be  un- 
disturbed in  their  tenancy,  and  that  their  repairs 
and  improvements  should  be  taken  in  lieu  of 
rent."  This  done  and  the  letters  stamped,  he 
put  the  photographs  of  his  wife  and  children 
here  and  there  on  his  desk  and  left  the  office. 

Oh!  it  is  quite  certain  that  Mother  Carey's 
own  chickens  go  out  over  the  seas  and  show 
good  birds  the  way  home;  and  it  is  quite  true, 
as  she  said,  "One  real  home  always  makes  an- 

202 


A  Family  Rhomboid 


other,  I  am  sure  of  that!"  It  can  even  send  a 
vision  of  a  home  across  fields  and  forests  and 
lakes  and  oceans  from  Beulah  village  to  Breslau, 
Germany,  and  on  to  Hong  Kong,  China. 


XXII 

CRADLE  GIFTS 

Mrs.  Henry  Lord  sent  out  a  good  many  invi- 
tations to  the  fairies  for  Cyril's  birthday  party, 
but  Mr.  Lord  was  at  his  critical  point  in  the  first 
volume  of  his  text  book,  and  forgot  that  he  had 
a  son.  Where  both  parents  are  not  interested 
in  these  little  affairs,  something  is  sure  to  be 
forgotten.  Cyril's  mother  was  weak  and  ill  at 
the  time,  and  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  the 
anger  of  The  Fairy  Who  Was  n't  Invited  was 
visited  on  the  baby  Cyril  in  his  cradle.  In  the 
revengeful  spirit  of  that  fairy  who  is  omitted 
from  these  functions,  she  sent  a  threat  instead 
of  a  blessing,  and  decreed  that  Cyril  should 
walk  in  fear  all  the  days  of  his  life.  Of  course, 
being  a  fairy,  she  knew  very  well  that,  if  Cyril, 
or  anybody  very  much  interested  in  Cyril,  were 
to  declare  that  there  was  no  power  whatever 
behind  her  curse,  she  would  not  be  able  to 
gratify  her  spite;  but  she  knew  also,  being  a 
fairy,  that  if  Cyril  got  into  the  habit  of  believing 
himself  a  coward,  he  would  end  by  being  one, 
so  she  stood  a  good  chance  of  winning,  after  all. 
Cyril,  when  he  came  into  the  world,  had  come 
204 


Cradle  Gifts 


with  only  half  a  welcome.  No  mother  and 
father  ever  met  over  his  cradle  and  looked  at 
him  together,  wondering  if  it  were  "well  with 
the  child."  When  he  was  old  enough  to  have  his 
red-gold  hair  curled,  and  a  sash  tied  around 
his  baby  waist,  he  was  sometimes  taken  down- 
stairs, but  he  always  fled  to  his  mother's  or  his 
nurse's  knee  when  his  father  approached.  How 
many  times  he  and  his  little  sister  Olive  had 
hidden  under  the  stairs  when  father  had  called 
mother  down  to  the  study  to  scold  her  about 
the  grocer's  bill!  And  there  was  a  nightmare  of 
a  memory  concerning  a  certain  birthday  of 
father's,  when  mother  had  determined  to  be  gay. 
It  was  just  before  supper.  Cyril,  clad  in  his  first 
brief  trousers,  was  to  knock  at  the  study  door 
with  a  little  purple  nosegay  in  his  hand,  to  show 
his  father  that  the  lilac  had  bloomed.  Olive, 
in  crimson  cashmere,  was  to  stand  near,  and 
when  the  door  opened,  present  him  with  her 
own  picture  of  the  cat  and  her  new  kittens; 
while  mother,  looking  so  pretty,  with  her  own 
gift  all  ready  in  her  hand,  was  palpitating  on 
the  staircase  to  see  how  the  plans  would  work. 
Nothing  could  have  been  worse,  however,  in  the 
way  of  a  small  domestic  tragedy,  than  the  event 
itself  when  it  finally  came  off. 

Cyril  knocked.   "What  do  you  want?"  came 
205 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


from  within,  in  tones  that  breathed  vexation 
at  being  interrupted. 

"Knock  again!"  whispered  Mrs.  Lord.  "Fa- 
ther does  n't  remember  that  it 's  his  birthday, 
and  he  does  n't  know  that  it's  you  knocking." 

Cyril  knocked  again  timidly,  but  at  the  first 
sound  of  his  father's  irritable  voice  as  he  rose 
hurriedly  from  his  desk,  the  boy  turned  and  fled 
through  the  kitchen  to  the  shed. 

Olive  held  the  fort,  picture  in  hand. 

"It's  your  birthday,  father,"  she  said. 
"There's  a  cake  for  supper,  and  here's  my  pre- 
sent." There  was  no  love  in  the  child's  voice. 
Her  heart,  filled  with  passionate  sympathy  for 
Cyril,  had  lost  all  zest  for  its  task,  and  she 
handed  her  gift  to  her  father  with  tightly  closed 
lips  and  heaving  breast. 

"All  right;  I'm  much  obliged,  but  I  wish  you 
would  not  knock  at  this  door  when  I  am  writ- 
ing, —  I  've  told  you  that  before.  Tell  your 
mother  I  can't  come  to  supper  to-night,  but  to 
send  me  a  tray,  please!" 

As  he  closed  the  door  Olive  saw  him  lay  the 
picture  on  a  table,  never  looking  at  it  as  he 
crossed  the  room  to  one  of  the  great  book-cases 
that  lined  the  walls. 

Mrs.  Lord  had  by  this  time  disappeared  for- 
lornly from  the  upper  hall.    Olive,  aged  ten, 

206 


Cradle  Gifts 


walked  up  the  stairs  in  a  state  of  mind  ferocious 
in  its  anger  .^Entering  her  mother's  room  she 
tore  the  crimson  ribbon  from  her  hair  and  began 
to  unbutton  her  dress.  "  I  hate  him !  I  hate  him ! " 
she  cried,  stamping  her  foot.  "I  will  never 
knock  at  his  door  again!  I'd  like  to  take  Cyril 
and  run  away!  I'll  get  the  birthday  cake  and 
fling  it  into  the  pond;  nothing  shall  stop  me!" 
Then,  seeing  her  mother's  white  face,  she  wailed, 
as  she  flung  herself  on  the  bed:  "Oh,  mother, 
mother,  —  why  did  you  ever  let  him  come  to 
live  with  us?  Did  we  have  to  have  him  for  a 
father?   Could  n't  you  help  it,  mother?" 

Mrs.  Lord  grew  paler,  put  her  hand  to  her 
heart,  wavered,  caught  herself,  wavered  again, 
and  fell  into  the  great  chair  by  the  window. 
Her  eyes  closed,  and  Olive,  frightened  by  the 
apparent  effect  of  her  words,  ran  down  the  back 
stairs  and  summoned  the  cook.  When  she 
returned,  panting  and  breathless,  her  mother 
was  sitting  quite  quietly  by  the  window,  look- 
ing out  at  the  cedars. 

"It  was  only  a  sudden  pain,  dear!  I  am  all 
well  again.  Nothing  is  really  the  matter,  Bridget. 
Mr.  Lord  will  not  be  down  to  supper;  spread  a 
tray  for  him,  please," 

"I'd  like  to  spread  a  tray  for  him  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  Red  Sea;  that's  where  he  belongs!" 

207 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


muttered  Bridget,  as  she  descended  to  the 
kitchen  to  comfort  Cyril. 

"Was  it  my  fault,  mother?"  asked  Olive, 
bending  over  her  anxiously. 

Her  mother  drew  the  child's  head  down  and 
leaned  her  own  against  it  feebly.  "No,  dear," 
she  sighed.  "It's  nobody's  fault,  unless  it's 
mine!" 

"Is  the  pain  gone?" 

"Quite  gone,  dear." 

Nevertheless  the  pain  was  to  prove  the  final 
wrench  to  a  heart  that  had  been  on  the  verge 
of  breaking  for  many  a  year,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  Olive  and  Cyril  were  motherless. 

Mr.  Lord  did  not  have  the  slightest  objection 
to  the  growing  intimacy  between  his  children 
and  the  new  family  in  the  Yellow  House,  so 
long  as. he  was  not  disturbed  by  it,  and  so  long 
as  it  cost  him  nothing.  They  had  strict  orders 
not  to  play  with  certain  of  their  village  acquaint- 
ances, Mr.  Lord  believing  himself  to  be  an 
aristocrat;  the  fact  being  that  he  was  almost 
destitute  of  human  sympathy,  and  to  make  a 
neighbor  of  him  you  would  have  had  to  begin 
with  his  grandfather  and  work  for  three  gener- 
ations. He  had  seen  Nancy  and  Gilbert  at  the 
gates  of  his  place,  and  he  had  passed  Mrs.  Carey 
in  one  of  his  infrequent  walks  to  the  post-office. 

208 


Cradle  Gifts 


She  was  not  a  person  to  pass  without  mental 
comment,  and  Mr.  Lord  instantly  felt  himself 
in  the  presence  of  an  equal,  an  unusual  fact  in 
his  experience;  he  would  not  have  known  a  su- 
perior if  he  had  met  one  ever  so  often ! 

"A  very  tine,  unusual  woman,"  he  thought. 
"She  accounts  for  that  handsome,  manly  boy. 
I  wish  he  could  knock  some  spirit  into  Cyril!" 

The  process  of  "knocking  spirit"  into  a  boy 
would  seem  to  be  inconsistent  with  educational 
logic,  but  by  very  different  methods,  Gilbert 
had  certainly  given  Cyril  a  trifling  belief  in  him- 
self, and  Mother  Carey  was  gradually  win- 
ning him  to  some  sort  of  self-expression  by  the 
warmth  of  her  frequent  welcomes  and  the  de- 
lightful faculty  she  possessed  of  making  him  feel 
at  ease/ 

"Come,  come!"  said  the  petrels  to  the  molly- 
mocks  in  "  Water  Babies."  "This  young  gentle- 
man is  going  to  Shiny  Wall.  He  is  a  plucky  one 
to  have  gone  so  far.  Give  the  little  chap  a  cast 
over  the  ice-pack  for  Mother  Carey's  sake." 

Gilbert  was  delighted,  in  a  new  place,  to  find  a 
boy  friend  of  his  own  age,  and  Cyril's  speedy  at- 
tachment gratified  his  pride.  Gilbert  was  doing 
well  these  summer  months.  The  unceasing  ac- 
tivity, the  authority  given  him  by  his  mother 
and  sisters,  his  growing  proficiency  in  all  kinds 

209 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


of  skilled  labor,  as  he  "  puttered  "  about  with  Osh 
Popham  or  Bill  Harmon  in  house  and  barn  and 
garden,  all  this  pleased  his  enterprising  nature. 
Only  one  anxiety  troubled  his  mother;  his  unre- 
signed  and  mutinous  attitude  about  exchanging 
popular  and  fashionable  Westover  for  Beulah 
Academy,  which  seat  of  learning  he  regarded 
with  unutterable  scorn.  He  knew  that  there  was 
apparently  no  money  to  pay  Westover  fees,  but 
he  was  still  child  enough  to  feel  that  it  could  be 
found,  somewhere,  if  properly  searched  for.  He 
even  considered  the  education  of  Captain  Carey's 
eldest  son  an  emergency  vital  enough  to  make 
it  proper  to  dip  into  the  precious  five  thousand 
dollars  which  was  yielding  them  a  part  of  their 
slender  annual  income.  Once,  when  Gilbert  was 
a  little  boy,  he  had  put  his  shoulder  out  of 
joint,  and  to  save  time  his  mother  took  him  at 
once  to  the  doctor's.  He  was  suffering,  but  still 
strong  enough  to  walk.  They  had  to  climb  a 
hilly  street,  the  child  moaning  with  pain,  his 
mother  soothing  and  encouraging  him  as  they 
went  on.  Suddenly  he  whimpered:  "Oh!  if  this 
had  only  happened  to  Ellen  or  Joanna  or  Addy 
or  Nancy,  I  could  have  borne  it  so  much  better! " 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  that  small  boy  left  in 
Gilbert  still,  and  he  endured  best  the  economies 
that  fell  on  the  feminine  members  of  the  family. 

210 


Cradle  Gifts 


It  was  the  very  end  of  August,  and  although 
school  opened  the  first  Monday  in  September, 
Mrs.  Carey  was  not  certain  whether  Gilbert 
would  walk  into  the  old-fashioned,  white  painted 
academy  with  the  despised  Beulah  "hayseeds," 
or  whether  he  would  make  a  scene,  and  author- 
ity would  have  to  be  used. 

"I  declare,  Gilly!"  exclaimed  Mother  Carey 
one  night,  after  an  argument  on  the  subject;  "one 
would  imagine  the  only  course  in  life  open  to  a 
boy  was  to  prepare  at  Westover  and  go  to  col- 
lege afterwards !  Yet  you  may  take  a  list  of  the 
most  famous  men  in  America,  and  I  dare  say 
you  will  find  half  of  them  came  from  schools  like 
Beulah  Academy  or  infinitely  poorer  ones.  I 
don't  mean  the  millionaires  alone.  I  mean  the 
merchants  and  engineers  and  surgeons  and  poets 
and  authors  and  statesmen.  Go  ahead  and  try  to 
stamp  your  school  in  some  way,  Gilly !  —  don't 
sit  down  feebly  and  wait  for  it  to  stamp  you!" 

This  was  all  very  well  as  an  exhibition  of  spirit 
on  Mother  Carey's  part,  but  it  had  been  a  very 
hard  week.  Gilbert  was  sulky;  Peter  had  had  a 
touch  of  tonsilitis;  Nancy  was  faltering  at  the 
dishwashing  and  wishing  she  were  a  boy;  Julia 
was  a  perfect  barnacle;  Kathleen  had  an  aching 
tooth,  and  there  being  no  dentist  in  the  village, 
was  applying  Popham  remedies,  —  clove-chew- 

211 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ing,  roasted  raisins,  and  disfiguring  bread  poul- 
tices; Bill  Harmon  had  received  no  reply  from 
Mr.  Hamilton,  and  when  Mother  Carey  went  to 
her  room  that  evening  she  felt  conscious  of  a  las- 
situde, and  a  sense  of  anxiety,  deeper  than  for 
months.  As  Gilbert  went  by  to  his  own  room,  he 
glanced  in  at  her  door,  finding  it  slightly  ajar. 
She  sat  before  her  dressing  table,  her  long  hair 
flowing  over  her  shoulders,  her  head  bent  over 
her  two  hands.  His  father's  picture  was  in  its 
accustomed  place,  and  he  heard  her  say  as  she 
looked  at  it:  "Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  I  am  so 
careworn,  so  troubled,  so  discouraged!  Gilbert 
needs  you,  and  so  do  I,  more  than  tongue  can 
tell!"  The  voice  was  so  low  that  it  was  almost 
a  whisper,  but  it  reached  Gilbert's  ears,  and 
there  was  a  sob  strangled  in  it  that  touched  his 
heart. 

The  boy  tiptoed  softly  into  his  room  and  sat 
down  on  his  bed  in  the  moonlight. 

"Dear  old  Mater!"  he  thought.  "It's  no  go! 
I  've  got  to  give  up  Westover  and  college  and  all 
and  settle  down  into  a  country  bumpkin!  No 
fellow  could  see  his  mother  look  like  that,  and 
speak  like  that,  and  go  his  own  gait;  he  's  just 
got  to  go  hers!" 

Meantime  Mrs.  Carey  had  put  out  the  lamp 
and  lay  quietly  thinking.  The  last  words  that 

212 


Cradle  Gifts 


floated  through  her  mind  as  she  sank  to  sleep 
were  those  of  a  half -forgotten  verse,  learned,  she 
could  not  say  how  many  years  before :  — 

You  can  glad  your  child  or  grieve  it! 
You  can  trust  it  or  deceive  it; 

When  all 's  done 

Beneath  God's  sun 
You  can  only  love  and  leave  it. 


XXIII 

NEARING  SHINY  WALL 

Another  person  presumably  on  the  way  to 
Shiny  Wall  and  Peacepool,  but  putting  small 
energy  into  the  journey,  was  that  mass  of  posi- 
tively glaring  virtues,  Julia  Carey.  More  than 
one  fairy  must  have  been  forgotten  when  Julia's 
christening  party  came  off.  No  heart-to-heart 
talk  in  the  twilight  had  thus  far  produced  any 
obvious  effect.  She  had  never,  even  when  very 
young,  experienced  a  desire  to  sit  at  the  feet  of 
superior  wisdom,  always  greatly  preferring  a 
chair  of  her  own.  She  seldom  did  wrong,  in  her 
own  opinion,  because  the  moment  she  enter- 
tained an  idea  it  at  once  became  right,  her  van- 
ity serving  as  a  pair  of  blinders  to  keep  her  from 
seeing  the  truth.  The  doctors  did  not  permit 
any  one  to  write  to  poor  Allan  Carey,  so  that 
Julia's  heart  could  not  be  softened  by  continual 
communication  with  her  invalid  father,  who, 
with  Gladys  Ferguson,  constituted  the  only  tri- 
bunal she  was  willing  to  recognize.  Her  con- 
sciousness of  superiority  to  the  conditions  that 
surrounded  her,  her  love  of  luxury,  the  silken 
selfishness  with  which  she  squirmed  out  of  un- 

214 


Nearing  Shiny  Wall 


pleasant  duties,  these  made  her  an  unlikable  and 
undesirable  housemate,  and  that  these  faults 
could  exist  with  what  Nancy  called  her  "ever- 
lasting stained-glass  attitude' '  made  it  difficult 
for  Mother  Carey  to  maintain  a  harmonious  fam- 
ily circle.  It  was  an  outburst  of  Nancy's  impetu- 
ous temper  that  Mrs.  Carey  had  always  secretly 
dreaded,  but  after  all  it  was  poor  Kathleen  who 
precipitated  an  unforgettable  scene  which  left  an 
influence  behind  it  for  many  months. 

The  morning  after  Mother  Carey's  interview 
with  Gilbert  she  looked  up  as  her  door  was 
pushed  open,  and  beheld  Julia,  white  and  rigid 
with  temper,  standing  on  the  threshold. 

"What  is  the  matter,  child?"  exclaimed  her 
aunt,  laying  down  her  work  in  alarm. 

Close  behind  Julia  came  Kathleen,  her  face 
swollen  with  tears,  her  expression  full  of  unut- 
terable woe. 

Julia's  lips  opened  almost  automatically  as  she 
said  slowly  and  with  bitter  emphasis,  "Aunt 
Margaret,  is  it  true,  as  Kathleen  says,  that  my 
father  has  all  your  money  and  some  of  Uncle 
Peter's?" 

Something  snapped  in  Mother  Carey!  One 
glance  at  Kathleen  showed  only  too  well  that  she 
had  committed  the  almost  unpardonable  sin  of 
telling  Julia  what  had  been  carefully  and  ten- 

215 


Mother  Caret's  Chickens 


derly  kept  from  her.  Before  she  could  answer, 
Kathleen  had  swept  past  Julia  and  flung  herself 
on  the  floor  near  her  mother. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  can't  say  anything  that  will 
ever  make  you  understand.  Julia  knows,  she 
knows  in  her  heart,  what  she  said  that  provoked 
me!  She  does  nothing  but  grumble  about  the 
work,  and  how^f  ew  dresses  we  have,  and  what  a 
drudge  she  is,  and  what  common  neighbors  we 
have,  and  how  Miss  Tewksbury  would  pity  her 
if  she  knew  all,  and  how  Uncle  Allan  would  suffer 
if  he  could  see  his  daughter  living  such  a  life! 
And  this  morning  my  head  ached  and  my  tooth 
ached  and  I  was  cross,  and  all  at  once  something 
leaped  out  of  my  mouth!" 

"Tell  her  what  you  said,"  urged  Julia  inexor- 
ably. 

Sobs  choked  Kathleen's  voice.  "I  said  —  I 
said — oh!  how  can  I  tell  it!  I  said,  if  her  father 
had  n't  lost  so  much  of  my  father's  and  my  mo- 
ther's money  wTe  should  n't  have  been  so  poor, 
any  of  us." 

"  Kathleen,  how  could  you ! "  cried  her  mother. 

If  Julia  wished  to  precipitate  a  tempest  she 
had  succeeded,  and  her  face  showed  a  certain  se- 
date triumph. 

"Oh!  mother!  don't  give  me  up;  don't  give  me 
up!"  wailed  Kathleen.   "It  was  n't  me  that  said 

216 


Nearing  Shiny  Wall 


it,  it  was  somebody  else  that  I  did  n't  know  lived 
inside  of  me.  I  don't  expect  you  to  forgive  it  or 
forget  it,  Julia,  but  if  you  '11  only  try,  just  a  little 
bit,  I  '11  show  you  how  sorry  I  feel.  I  'd  cut  my- 
self and  make  it  bleed,  I  'd  go  to  prison,  if  I  could 
get  back  to  where  I  was  before  I  said  it!  Oh! 
what  shall  I  do,  mother,  if  you  look  at  me  like 
that  again  or  say  'How  could  you!'" 

There  was  no  doubting  Kathleen's  remorse; 
even  Julia  saw  that. 

"Did  she  tell  the  truth,  Aunt  Margaret?"  she 
repeated. 

"Come  here,  Julia,  and  sit  by  me.  It  is  true 
that  your  Uncle  Peter  and  I  have  both  put  money 
into  your  father's  business,  and  it  is  true  that  he 
has  not  been  able  to  give  it  back  to  us,  and  per- 
haps may  never  do  so.  There  is  just  enough  left 
to  pay  your  poor  father's  living  expenses,  but  we 
trust  his  honor;  we  are  as  sorry  for  him  as  we  can 
be,  and  we  love  him  dearly.  Kathleen  meant 
nothing  but  that  your  father  has  been  unfortu- 
nate and  we  all  have  to  abide  by  the  conse- 
quences; but  I  am  amazed  that  my  daughter 
should  have  so  forgotten  herself  as  to  speak  of  it 
to  you!"  (Renewed  sobs  from  the  prostrate 
Kathleen). 

"Especially,"  said  Julia,  "when,  as  Gladys 
Ferguson  says,  I  have  n't  anybody  in  the  world 

217 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


but  you,  to  turn  to  in  my  trouble.  I  am  a  father- 
less girl"  (her  voice  quivered  here),  "and  I  am  a 
guest  in  your  house." 

Mrs.  Carey's  blood  rose  a  little  as  she  looked 
at  poor  Kitty's  shaken  body  and  streaming  eyes, 
and  Julia's  unforgiving  face.  "You  are  wrong 
there,  Julia.  [I  fail  to  see  why  you  should  not  take 
your  full  share  of  our  misfortunes,  and  suffer  as 
much  as  we,  from  our  too  small  income.  It  is  not 
our  fault,  it  is  not  yours.  You  are  not  a  privi- 
leged guest,  you  are  one  of  the  family.  If  you  are 
fatherless  just  now,  my  children  are  fatherless 
forever;  yet  you  have  not  made  one  single  burden 
lighter  by  joining  our  forces.  You  have  been  an 
outsider,  instead  of  putting  yourself  loyally  into 
the  breach,  and  working  with  us  heart  to  heart. 
I  welcomed  you  with  open  arms  and  you  have 
made  my  life  harder,  much  harder,  than  it  was  be- 
fore your  coming.  To  protect  you  I  have  had  to 
discipline  my  own  children  continually,  and  all 
the  time  you  were  putting  their  tempers  to  quite 
unnecessary  tests!  I  am  not  extenuating  Kath- 
leen, but  I  merely  say  you  have  no  right  to  be- 
have as  you  do.  Y~ou  are  thirteen  years  old,  quite 
old  enough  to  make  up  your  mind  whether  you 
wish  to  be  loved  by  anybody  or  not;  at  present 
you  are  not!" 

Never  had  the  ears  of  the  Paragon  heard  such 
218 


Nearing  Shiny  Wall 


disagreeably  plain  speech.  She  was  not  inclined 
to  tears,  but  moisture  began  to  appear  in  her  eyes 
and  she  looked  as  though  a  shower  were  immi- 
nent. Aunt  Margaret  was  magnificent  in  her 
wrath,  and  though  Julia  feared,  she  admired  her. 
Not  to  be  loved,  if  that  really  were  to  be  her  lot, 
rather  terrified  Julia.  She  secretly  envied  Nancy's 
unconscious  gift  of  drawing  people  to  her  in- 
stantly; men,  women,  children,  —  dogs  and 
horses,  for  that  matter.  She  never  noticed  that 
Nancy's  heart  ran  out  to  meet  everybody,  and 
that  she  was  overflowing  with  vitality  and  joy 
and  sympathy;  on  the  contrary,  she  considered 
the  tribute  of  affection  paid  to  Nancy  as  a  part 
of  Nancy's  luck.  Virtuous,  conscientious,  intel- 
ligent, and  well-dressed  as  she  felt  herself  to  be, 
she  emphatically  did  not  wish  to  be  disliked,  and 
it  was  a  complete  surprise  to  her  that  she  had  not 
been  a  successful  Carey  chicken. 

"Gladys  Ferguson  always  loved  me,"  she  ex- 
postulated after  a  brief  silence,  and  there  was  a 
quiver  in  her  voice. 

"Then  either  Gladys  has  a  remarkable  gift  of 
loving,  or  else  you  are  a  different  Julia  in  her  com- 
pany," remarked  Mother  Carey,  quietly,  raising 
Julia's  astonishment  and  perturbation  to  an  im- 
measurable height. 

"Now,  Kathleen,"  continued  Mother  Carey, 
219 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Mrs.  Godfrey  has  often  asked  you  to  spend  a 
week  with  Elsie,  and  you  can  go  to  Charlestown 
on  the  afternoon  train.  Go  away  from  Julia  and 
forget  everything  but  that  you  have  done  wrong 
and  you  must  find  a  way  to  repair  it.  I  hope 
Julia  will  learn  while  you  are  away  to  make  it 
easier  for  you  to  be  courteous  and  amiable.  There 
is  a  good  deal  in  the  Bible,  Julia,  about  the  sin  of 
causing  your  brother  to  offend.  Between  that 
sin  and  Kathleen's  offence,  there  is  little,  in  my 
mind,  to  choose!" 

"  Yes,  there  is ! "  cried  Kathleen.  "  I  am  much, 
much  worse  than  Julia.  Father  could  n't  bear  to 
know  that  I  had  hurt  Julia's  feelings  and  hurt 
yours  too.  I  was  false  to  father,  and  you,  and 
Uncle  Allan,  and  Julia.  Nothing  can  be  said  for 
me,  nothing  I  I  am  so  ashamed  of  myself  that  I 
shall  never  get  over  it  in  the  world.  Oh,  Julia, 
could  you  shake  hands  with  me,  just  to  show  me 
you  know  how  I  despise  myself?" 

Julia  shook  hands  considerably  less  like  a 
slug  or  a  limpet  than  usual,  and  sohiething  very 
queer  and  unexpected  happened  when  her  hand 
met  poor  Kitty's  wet,  feverish  little  paw  and  she 
heard  the  quiver  in  her  voice.  She  suddenly 
stooped  and  kissed  her  cousin,  quite  without 
intention.  Kathleen  returned  the  salute  with 
grateful,  pathetic  warmth,  and  then  the  two  fell 

220 


Nearing  Shiny  Wall 


on  Mother  Carey's  neck  to  be  kissed  and  cried 
over  for  a  full  minute. 

"I  '11  go  to  the  doctor  and  have  my  ugly  tooth 
pulled  out,"  exclaimed  Kathleen,  wiping  her 
eyes.  "If  it  had  n't  been  for  that  I  never  could 
have  been  so  horrible!" 

"That  would  be  all  very  well  for  once,"  an- 
swered her  mother  with  a  tired  smile,  "but  if 
you  pluck  out  a  supposed  offending  member 
every  time  you  do  something  wrong,  I  fear  you 
will  not  have  many  left  when  you  are  an  old 
lady!" 

"Mother!"  said  Kathleen,  almost  under  her 
breath  and  not  daring  to  look  up,  "could  n't  I 
stay  at  home  from  Gharlestown  and  show  you 
and  Julia,  here,  how  sorry  I  am?" 

"Yes,  let  her,  Aunt  Margaret,  and  then  I  can 
have  a  chance  to  try  too,"  pleaded  Julia. 

Had  the  heavens  fallen?  Had  the  Paragon, 
the  Pink  of  Propriety  and  Perfection,  confessed 
a  fault?  Had  the  heart  of  the  smug  one,  the  prig, 
melted,  and  did  she  feel  at  last  her  kinship  to 
the  Carey  chickens?  Had  she  suffered  a  real 
grievance,  the  first  amongst  numberless  deeds  of 
tenderness,  and  having  resented  it  like  an  "old 
beast,"  forgiven  it  like  a  " new  "  one?  It  certainly 
seemed  as  if  Mother  Carey  that  week  were  at  her 


221 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


old  trade  of  making  things  make  themselves. 
Gilbert,  Kathleen,  and  Julia  had  all  fought  their 
way  under  the  ice-pack  and  were  getting  a  glimpse 
of  Shiny  Wall. 


XXIV 

A  LETTER  FROM  GERMANY 

Mother  Carey  walked  down  the  village  street 
one  morning  late  in  August,  while  Peter,  milk 
pail  in  hand,  was  running  by  her  side  and  mak- 
ing frequent  excursions  off  the  main  line  of  travel. 
Beulah  looked  enchanting  after  a  night  of  rain, 
and  the  fields  were  greener  than  they  had  been 
since  haying  time.  Unless  Mr.  Hamilton  were 
away  from  his  consular  post  on  a  vacation  some- 
where on  the  Continent,  he  should  have  received, 
and  answered,  Bill  Harmon's  letter  before  this, 
she  was  thinking,  as  she  looked  at  the  quiet 
beauty  of  the  scene  that  had  so  endeared  itself 
to  her  in  a  few  short  months. 

Mrs.  Popham  had  finished  her  morning's  work 
and  was  already  sitting  at  her  drawing-in  frame 
in  the  open  doorway,  making  a  very  purple  rose 
with  a  very  scarlet  centre. 

"Will  you  come  inside,  Mis'  Carey?"  she  asked 
hospitably,  "or  do  you  want  Lallie  Joy  to  set 
you  a  chair  on  the  grass,  same  as  you  had  last 
time?" 

"I  always  prefer  the  grass,  Mrs.  Popham," 
smiled  Mrs.  Carey.   "  As  it 's  the  day  for  the  fish- 

223 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


man  to  come  I  thought  we  'd  like  an  extra  quart 
of  milk  for  chowder."    . 

"I  only  hope  he'll  make  out  to  come,"  was 
Mrs.  Popham's  curt  response.  "If  I  set  out  to 
be  a  fishman,  I  vow  I'd  be  one!  Mr.  Tubbs  stays 
to  home  whenever  he 's  hayin',  or  his  wife 's  sick, 
or  it 's  stormy,  or  the  children  want  to  go  to  the 
circus!" 

Mrs.  Carey  laughed.  "That's  true;  but  as 
your  husband  reminded  me  last  week,  when  Mr. 
Tubbs  disappointed  us,  his  fish  is  always  fresh- 
caught,  and  good." 

"Oh!  of  course  Mr.  Popham  would  speak  up 
for  him!"  returned  his  wife.  "I  don't  see  myself 
as  it  makes  much  diff'rence  whether  his  fish  is 
good  or  bad,  if  he  stays  to  home  with  it !  Mebbe 
I  look  on  the  dark  side  a  little  mite;  I  can't 
hardly  help  it,  livin'  with  Mr.  Popham,  and  he 
so  hopeful." 

"He  keeps  us  all  very  merry  at  the  Yellow 
House,"  Mrs.  Carey  ventured. 

"Yes,  he  would,"  remarked  Mrs.  Popham 
drily,  "but  you  don't  git  it  stiddy;  hopefulness 
at  meals,  hopefulness  evenin's,  an'  hopefulness 
nights !  —  one  everlastin'  stiddy  stream  of  hope- 
fulness! He  was  jest  so  as  a  boy;  always  lookin' 
on  the  bright  side  whether  there  was  any  or  not. 
His  mother  'n'  father  got  tumble  sick  of  it;  so 

224 


A  Letter  from  Germany 


much  sunshine  in  the  house  made  a  continual 
drouth,  so  old  Mis'  Popham  used  to  say.  For 
her  part,  she  said,  she  liked  to  think  that,  once 
in  a  while,  there  was  a  cloud  that  was  a  first- 
class  cloud;  a  thick,  black  cloud,  clean  through 
to  the  back!  She  was  tired  to  death  lookin'  for 
Ossian's  silver  linin's !  Lallie  Joy  's  real  moody 
like  me;  I  s'pose  it's  only  natural,  livin'  with 
a  father  who  never  sees  anything  but  good,  no 
matter  which  way  he  looks.  There's  two  things 
I  trust  I  shan't  hear  any  more  when  I  git  to 
heaven, —  that's  6 Cheer  up  Maria!'  an'  'It's  all 
for  the  best ! '  As  for  Mr.  Popham,  he  says  any 
place  '11  be  heaven  to  him  so  long  as  I  ain't  there, 
callin'  '  Hurry  up  Ossian ! '  so  we  have  it,  back 
an' forth!" 

"It's  a  wonderful  faculty,  seeing  the  good  in 
everything,"  sighed  Mrs.  Carey. 

"Wonderful  tiresome,"  returned  Mrs.  Pop- 
ham, "though  I  will  own  up  it's  Ossian's  only 
fault,  and  he  can't  see  his  own  misfortunes  any 
clearer  than  he  can  see  those  of  other  folks.  His 
new  colt  run  away  with  him  last  week  and  stove 
the  mowin'  machine  all  to  pieces.  6  Never  mind, 
Maria!'  he  says,  'it'll  make  fust-rate  gear  for 
a  windmill!'  He's  out  in  the  barn  now,  fussin' 
over  it;  you  can  hear  him  singin'.  They  was  all 
here  practicin'  for  the  Methodist  concert  last 

225 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


night,  an'  I  did  n't  sleep  a  wink,  the  tunes  kep' 
a-runnin'  in  my  head  so!  They  always  git 
Ossian  to  sing  'Fly  like  a  youthful  hart  or  roe, 
over  the  hills  where  spices  grow,'  an'  I  tell  him 
he's  too  old;  youthful  harts  an'  roes  don't  fly 
over  the  hills  wearin'  spectacles,  I  tell  him,  but 
he  '11  go  right  on  singin'  it  till  they  have  to  carry 
him  up  on  the  platform  in  a  wheeled  chair!" 

"You  go  to  the  Congregational  church,  don't 
you,  Mrs.  Popham?"  asked  Mrs.  Carey.  "I've 
seen  Lallie  and  Digby  at  Sunday-school." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Popham  is  a  Methodist  and  I'm  a 
Congregationalist,  but  I  say  let  the  children 
go  where  they  like,  so  I  always  take  them  with 
me." 

Mrs.  Carey  was  just  struggling  to  conceal  her 
amusement  at  this  religious  flexibility  on  Mrs. 
Popham's  part,  when  she  espied  Nancy  flying 
down  the  street,  bareheaded,  waving  a  bit  of 
paper  in  the  air. 

"Are  you  'most  ready  to  come  home,  Muddy?  " 
she  called,  without  coming  any  nearer. 

"Yes,  quite  ready,  now  Lallie  has  brought 
the  milk.  Good  morning,  Mrs.  Popham;  the 
children  want  me  for  some  new  enterprise." 

"You  give  yourself  most  too  much  to  'em," 
expostulated  Mrs.  Popham;  "you  don't  take 
no  vacations." 

226 


A  Letter  from  Germany 


"Ah,  well,  you  see  'myself  is  all  I  have  to 
give  them,"  answered  Mrs.  Carey,  taking  Peter 
and  going  to  meet  Nancy. 

"Mother,"  said  that  young  person  breath- 
lessly, "I  must  tell  you  what  I  did  n't  tell  at 
the  time,  for  fear  of  troubling  you.  I  wrote  to 
Mr.  Hamilton  by  the  same  post  that  Mr.  Har- 
mon did.  Bill  is  so  busy  and  such  a  poor  writer 
I  thought  he  would  n't  put  the  matter  nicely 
at  all,  and  I  did  n't  want  you,  with  all  your 
worries,  brought  into  it,  so  I  wrote  to  the  Con- 
sul myself,  and  kept  a  copy  to  show  you  exactly 
what  I  said.  I  have  been  waiting  at  the  gate  for 
the  letters  every  day  for  a  week,  but  this  morn- 
ing Gilbert  happened  to  be  there  and  shouted, 
'A  [letter  from  Germany  for  you,  Nancy!'  So 
all  of  them  are  wild  with  curiosity;  Olive  and 
Cyril  too,  but  I  wanted  you  to  open  and  read 
it  first  because  it  may  be  full  of  awful  blows." 

Mrs.  Carey  sat  down  on  the  side  of  a  green 
bank  between  the  Pophams'  corner  and  the 
Yellow  House  and  opened  the  letter,  —  with 
some  misgivings,  it  must  be  confessed.  Nancy 
sat  close  beside  her  and  held  one  edge  of  the 
wide  sheets,  closely  filled. 

"Why,  he  has  written  you  a  volume,  Nancy!" 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Carey.  "  It  must  be  the  complete 
story  of  his  life!   How  long  was  yours  to  him?" 

227 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"I  don't  remember;  pretty  long;  because 
there  seemed  to  be  so  much  to  tell,  to  show  him 
how  we  loved  the  house,  and  why  we  could  n't 
spend  Cousin  Ann's  money  and  move  out  in  a 
year  or  two,  and  a  lot  about  ourselves,  to  let 
him  see  we  were  nice  and  agreeable  and  respect- 
able." 

"I'm  not  sure  all  that  was  strictly  necessary," 
commented  Mrs.  Carey  with  some  trepidation. 

This  was  Lemuel  Hamilton's  letter,  dated 
from  the  office  of  the  American  Consul  in 
Breslau,  Germany. 

My  dear  Miss  Nancy,  —  As  your  letter  to  me  was  a 
purely  "business"  communication  I  suppose  I  ought  to  be- 
gin my  reply:  "Dear  Madam,  Your  esteemed  favor  was 
received  on  the  sixth  inst.  and  contents  noted,"  but  I  shall 
do  nothing  of  the  sort.  I  think  you  must  have  guessed  that 
I  have  two  girls  of  my  own,  for  you  wrote  to  me  just  as  if 
we  were  sitting  together  side  by  side,  like  two  friends,  not  a 
bit  as  landlord  and  tenant. 

Mother  Carey's  eyes  twinkled.  She  well 
knew  Nancy's  informal  epistolary  style,  and 
her  facile,  instantaneous  friendliness ! 

Every  word  in  your  letter  interested  me,  pleased  me, 
touched  me.  I  feel  that  I  know  you  all,  from  the  dear  mo- 
ther who  sits  in  the  centre  — 


What  does  he  mean  by  that?" 

228 


A  Letter  from*  Germany 


"I  sent  him  a  snap  shot  of  the  family." 

"Nancy!  What  for?" 

"So  that  he  could  see  what  we  were  like;  so 
that  he'd  know  we  were  fit  to  be  lifelong  ten- 
ants!" 

Mrs.  Carey  turned  resignedly  to  the  letter 
again. 

From  the  dear  mother  who  sits  in  the  centre,  to  the  lov- 
able little  Peter  who  looks  as  if  he  were  all  that  you  describe 
him !  I  was  about  his  age  when  I  went  to  the  Yellow  House 
to  spend  a  few  years.  Old  Granny  Hamilton  had  lived  there 
all  her  life,  and  when  my  mother,  who  was  a  widow,  was 
seized  with  a  serious  illness  she  took  me  home  with  her  for 
a  long  visit.  She  was  never  well  enough  to  go  away,  so  my 
early  childhood  was  passed  in  Beulah,  and  I  only  left  the 
village  when  I  was  ten  years  old,  and  an  orphan. 

"Oh,  dear!"  interpolated  Nancy.  "It  seems, 
lately,  as  if  nobody  had  both  father  and  mother ! " 

Granny  Hamilton  died  soon  after  my  mother,  and  I 
hardly  know  who  lived  in  the  house  for  the  next  thirty  years. 
It  was  my  brother's  property,  and  a  succession  of  families 
occupied  it  until  it  fell  to  me  in  my  turn.  I  have  no  happy 
memories  connected  with  it,  so  you  can  go  ahead  and  make 
them  for  yourselves.  My  only  remembrance  is  of  the  west 
bedroom,  where  my  mother  lived  and  died. 

"The  west  bedroom;  that  isn't  the  painted 
one;  no,  of  course  it  is  the  one  where  I  sleep," 

229 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


said  Mrs.  Carey.  "The  painted  one  must  always 
have  been  the  guest  chamber." 

She  could  only  move  from  bed  to  chair,  and  her  greatest 
pleasure  was  to  sit  by  the  sunset  window  and  look  at  the 
daisies  and  buttercups  waving  in  that  beautiful  sloping 
stretch  of  field  with  the  pine  woods  beyond.  After  the 
grass  was  mown,  and  that  field  was  always  left  till  the  last 
for  her  sake,  she  used  to  sit  there  and  wait  for  Queen 
Anne's  lace  to  come  up;  its  tall  stems  and  delicate  white 
wheels  nodding  among  the  grasses. 

"Oh!  I  do  like  him!"  exclaimed  Nancy  im- 
petuously. "Can't  you  see  him,  mother?  It's 
so  nice  of  him  to  remember  that  they  always 
mowed  the  hayfield  last  for  his  mother's  sake, 
and  so  nice  of  him  to  think  of  Queen  Anne's  lace 
all  these  years!" 

Now  as  to  business,  your  Cousin  Ann  is  quite  right  when 
she  tells  you  that  you  cught  not  to  put  expensive  improve- 
ments on  another  person's  property  lest  you  be  disturbed 
in  your  tenancy.  That  sort  of  cousin  is  always  right,  what- 
ever she  says.  Mine  was  not  named  Ann;  she  was  Emma, 
but  the  principle  is  the  same. 

"Nancy!"  asked  Mrs.  Carey,  looking  away 
from  the  letter  again,  "did  you  say  anything 
about  your  Cousin  Ann?" 

"Yes,  some  little  thing  or  other;  for  it  was  her 
money  that  we  could  n't  spend  until  we  knew 

230 


A  Letter  from  Germany 


we  could  stay  in  the  house.  I  did  n't  describe 
her,  of  course,  to  Mr.  Hamilton ;  I  just  told  him 
she  was  very  businesslike,  and  yes,  I  remember 
now,  I  told  him  you  said  she  was  a  very  fine 
person;  that's  about  all.  But  you  see  how  clever 
he  is!  he  just  has  'instinks,'  as  Mr.  Popham  says, 
and  you  don't  have  to  tell  him  much  about  any- 
thing." 

If  you  are  intending  to  bring  the  water  from  the  well  into 
the  house  and  put  a  large  stove  in  the  cellar  to  warm  some 
of  the  upper  rooms;  if  you  are  papering  and  painting  inside, 
and  keeping  the  place  in  good  condition,  you  are  preserv- 
ing my  property  and  even  adding  to  its  value;  so  under  the 
circumstances  I  could  not  think  of  accepting  any  rent  in 
money. 

"No  rent!  Not  even  the  sixty  dollars!"  ex- 
claimed Nancy. 

"Look;  that  is  precisely  what  he  says." 
"There  never  was  such  a  dear  since  the  world 
began!"  cried  Nancy  joyously.    "Oh!  do  read 
on;  there's  a  lot  more,  and  the  last  may  contra- 
dict the  first." 

Shall  I  tell  you  what  more  the  Careys  may  do  for  me, 
they  who  have  done  so  much  already? 

"So  much!"  quoted  Nancy  with  dramatic 
emphasis.   "Oh,  he  is  a  dear!" 

231 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


My  son  Tom,  when  he  went  down  to  Beulah  before  start- 
ing for  China,  visited  the  house  and  at  my  request  put  away 
my  mother's  picture  safely.  He  is  a  clever  boy,  and  instead 
of  placing  the  thing  in  an  attic  where  it  might  be  injured, 
he  tucked  it  away,  —  where  do  you  think,  —  in  the  old 
brick  oven  of  the  room  that  is  now,  I  suppose,  your  dining 
room.  It  is  a  capital  hiding-place,  for  there  had  been  no  fire 
there  for  fifty  years,  nor  ever  will  be  again.  I  have  other 
portraits  of  her  with  me,  on  this  side  of  the  water.  Please 
remove  the  one  I  speak  of  from  its  wrappings  and  hang  it 
over  the  mantel  shelf  in  the  west  bedroom. 

"My  bedroom!  I  shall  love  to  have  it  there," 
said  Mother  Carey. 

Then,  once  a  year,  on  my  mother's  birthday,  —  it  is  the 
fourth  of  July  and  an  easy  date  to  remember,  —  will  my 
little  friend  Miss  Nancy,  or  any  of  the  other  Careys,  if  she 
is  absent,  pick  a  little  nosegay  of  daisies  and  buttercups 
(perhaps  there  will  even  be  a  bit  of  early  Queen  Anne's  lace) 
and  put  it  in  a  vase  under  my  mother's  picture?  That  shall 
be  the  annual  rent  paid  for  the  Yellow  House  to  Lemuel 
Hamilton  by  the  Careys ! 

Tears  of  joy  sprang  to  the  eyes  of  emotional 
Nancy.  She  rose  to  her  feet  and  paced  the 
greensward  excitedly. 

"Oh,  mother,  I  didn't  think  there  could  be 
another  such  man  after  knowing  father  and  the 
Admiral.  Is  n't  it  all  as  wonderful  as  a  fairy 
story?" 


A  Letter  from  Germany 


"There's  a  little  more;  listen,  dear." 

As  to  the  term  of  your  occupancy,  the  Careys  may  have 
the  Yellow  House  until  the  day  of  my  death,  unless  by 
some  extraordinary  chance  my  son  Tom  should  ever  want 
it  as  a  summer  home. 

"Oh,  dear!  there  comes  the  dreadful  'unless'! 
6  My  son  Tom'  is  our  only  enemy,  then!"  said 
Nancy  darkly. 

"He  is  in  China,  at  all  events,"  her  mother 
remarked  cheerfully. 

Tom  is  the  only  one  who  ever  had  a  bit  of  sentiment  about 
Beulah,  and  he  was  always  unwilling  that  the  old  place 
should  be  occupied  by  strangers.  The  curious  thing  about 
the  matter  is  that  you  and  yours  do  not  seem  to  be  strang- 
ers to  me  and  mine.  Do  you  know,  dear  little  Miss  Nancy, 
what  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes  in  your  letter?  The  in- 
cident of  your  father's  asking  what  you  could  do  to  thank 
the  Yellow  House  for  the  happy  hour  it  had  given  you  on 
that  summer  day  long  ago,  and  the  planting  of  the  crimson 
rambler  by  the  side  of  the  portico.  I  have  sent  your  pic- 
ture tying  up  the  rose,  —  and  it  was  so  charming  I  was  loath 
to  let  it  go,  —  with  your  letter,  and  the  snap  shot  of  the 
family  group,  all  out  to  my  son  Tom  in  China.  He  will 
know  then  why  I  have  let  the  house,  to  whom,  and  all  the 
attendant  circumstances.  Trust  him  never  to  disturb  you 
when  he  sees  how  you  love  the  old  place.  The  planting  of 
that  crimson  rambler  will  fix  Tom,  for  he  *s  a  romantic 
boy. 

233 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"The  planting  of  the  rose  was  a  heavenly  in- 
spiration if  it  does  '  fix  Tom ! '  We  '11  call  Tom  the 
Chinese  Enemy.  No,  we'll  call  him  the  Yellow 
Peril,"  laughed  Nancy  in  triumph. 

I  am  delighted  with  the  sample  of  paper  you  have  chosen 
for  the  front  hall. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  did  n't  go  over  to  Ger- 
many yourself,  Nancy,  and  take  a  trunk  of 
samples!"  cried  Mrs.  Carey,  wiping  the  tears 
of  merriment  from  her  eyes.  "I  can't  think 
what  the  postage  on  your  letter  must  have 
been." 

"Ten  cents,"  Nancy  confessed,  "but  wasn't 
it  worth  it,  Muddy?  —  Come,  read  the  last  few 
lines,  and  then  we  '11  run  all  the  way  home  to  tell 
the  others." 

Send  me  anything  more,  at  any  time,  to  give  me  an  idea 
of  the  delightful  things  you  are  doing.  I  shall  be  proud  if 
you  honor  me  with  an  occasional  letter.  Pray  give  my  re- 
gards to  your  mother,  whom  I  envy,  and  all  the  "stormy 
petrels,"  whom  I  envy  too. 
Believe  me,  dear  Miss  Nancy, 

Yours  sincerely, 

Lemuel  Hamilton. 

"I  can't  remember  why  I  told  him  about 
Mother  Carey's  chickens,"  said  Nancy  reflect- 

234 


A  Letter  from  Germany 


ively.  "It  just  seemed  to  come  in  naturally. 
The  Yellow  Peril  must  be  rather  nice,  as  well  as 
his  father,  even  if  he  is  our  enemy.  That  was 
clever  of  him,  putting  his  grandmother  in  the 
brick  oven!"  And  here  Nancy  laughed,  and 
laughed  again,  thinking  how  her  last  remark 
would  sound  if  overheard  by  a  person  unac- 
quainted with  the  circumstances. 

"A  delightful,  warm,  kind,  friendly  letter," 
said  Mother  Carey,  folding  it  with  a  caressing 
hand.   "I  wish  your  father  could  have  read  it." 

"He  does  n't  say  a  word  about  his  children," 
and  Nancy  took  the  sheets  and  scanned  them 
again. 

"You  evidently  gave  him  the  history  of  your 
whole  family,  but  he  confines  himself  to  his  own 
life." 

"He  mentions  'my  son  Tom'  frequently 
enough,  but  there's  not  a  word  of  Mrs.  Hamil- 
ton." 

"No,  but  there's  no  reason  there  should  be, 
especially!" 

"If  he  loved  her  he  could  n't  keep  her  out," 
said  Nancy  shrewdly.  "  She  just  is  n't  in  the  story 
at  all.  Could  any  of  us  write  a  chronicle  of  any 
house  we  ever  lived  in,  and  leave  you  out?" 

Mrs.  Carey  took  Nancy's  outstretched  hands 
and  was  pulled  up  from  the  greensward.   "You 

235 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


have  a  few  'instinks'  yourself,  little  daughter," 
she  said  with  a  swift  pat  on  the  rosy  cheek. 
"Now,  Peter,  put  your  marbles  in  the  pocket 
of  your  blue  jeans,  and  take  the  milk  pail  from 
under  the  bushes;  we  must  hurry  or  there'll  be 
no  chowder." 

As  they  neared  Garden  Fore-and-Aft  the 
group  of  children  rushed  out  to  meet  them, 
Kitty  in  advance. 

"The  fish  man  did  n't  come,"  she  said,  "and 
it's  long  past  his  time,  so  there's  no  hope;  but 
Julia  and  I  have  the  dinner  all  planned.  There 
was  n't  enough  of  it  to  go  round  anyway,  so 
we've  asked  Olive  and  Cyril  to  stay,  and  we've 
set  the  table  under  the  great  maple,  —  do  you 
care?" 

"Not  a  bit;  we'll  have  a  real  jollification, 
because  Nancy  has  some  good  news  to  tell  you!" 

"The  dinner  isn't  quite  appropriate  for  a 
jollification,"  Kitty  observed  anxiously.  "Is 
the  news  good  enough  to  warrant  opening  a  jar 
or  a  can  of  anything?" 

"Open  all  that  doth  hap  to  be  closed,"  cried 
Nancy,  embracing  Olive  excitedly.  "Light  the 
bonfires  on  the  encroaching  hills.  Set  casks 
a-tilt,  and  so  forth." 

"It's  the  German  letter!"  said  Gilbert  at  a 
venture. 

236 


A  Letter  from  Germany 


"What  is  the  dinner,  Kitty?"  Mother  Carey 
asked. 

"New  potatoes  and  string  beans  from  the  aft 
garden.  Stale  bread  made  into  milk  toast  to 
be  served  as  a  course.  Then,  not  that  it  has 
anything  to  do  with  the  case,  but  just  to  give 
a  style  to  the  meal,  Julia  has  made  a  salad  out 
of  the  newspaper." 

Nancy  created  a  diversion  by  swooning  on  the 
grass;  a  feat  which  had  given  her  great  fame  in 
charades. 

"It  was  only  the  memory  of  Julia's  last  news- 
paper salad!"  she  murmured  when  the  usual 
restoratives  had  been  applied.  "Prithee,  poppet, 
what  hast  dropped  into  the  dish  to-day?" 

Julia  was  laughing  too  much  to  be  wholly 
intelligible,  but  read  from  a  scrap  in  her  apron 
pocket:  "'Any  fruit  in  season,  cold  beans  or 
peas,  minced  cucumber,  English  walnuts,  a  few 
cubes  of  cold  meat  left  from  dinner,  hard  boiled 
eggs  in  slices,  flecks  of  ripe  tomatoes  and  radishes 
to  perfect  the  color  scheme,  a  dash  of  onion 
juice,  dash  of  paprika,  dash  of  rich  cream.'  I 
have  left  out  the  okra,  the  shallot,  the  estragon, 
the  tarragon,  the  endive,  the  hearts  of  artichoke, 
the  Hungarian  peppers  and  the  haricot  beans 
because  we  had  n't  any  ;  —  do  you  think  it  will 
make  any  difference,  Aunt  Margaret?" 

237 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"It  will,"  said  Nancy  oracularly,  "but  all  to 
the  good." 

"Rather  a  dull  salad  I  call  it,"  commented 
Gilbert.  "Lacks  the  snap  of  the  last  one.  No 
mention  of  boned  sprats,  or  snails  in  aspic, 
calves'  foot  jelly,  iced  humming  birds,  pickled 
edelweiss,  or  any  of  those  things  kept  habitually 
in  the  cellars  of  families  like  ours.  No  dash  of 
Jamaica  ginger  or  Pain-killer  or  sloe  gin  or  sarsa- 
parilla  to  give  it  piquancy.  Unless  Julia  can  find 
a  paper  that  gives  more  up-to-date  advice  to  its 
country  subscribers,  we'll  have  to  transfer  her 
from  the  kitchen  department  to  the  woodshed." 

Julia's  whole  attitude,  during  this  discussion 
ofjher  recent  culinary  experiments,  was  indica- 
tive of  the  change  that  was  slowly  taking  place 
in  her  point  of  view.  The  Careys  had  a  large 
sense  of  humor,  from  mother  down  as  far  as 
Peter,  who  was  still  in  the  tadpole  stage  of  it. 
They  chaffed  one  another  on  all  occasions,  for 
the  most  part  courteously  and  with  entire  good 
nature.  Leigh  Hunt  speaks  of  the  anxiety  of 
certain  persons  to  keep  their  minds  quiet  lest 
any  motion  be  clumsy,  and  Julia's  concern  had 
been  of  this  variety;  but  four  or  five  months 
spent  in  a  household  where  mental  operations, 
if  not  deep,  were  incredibly  quick,  had  made  her 
a  little  more  elastic.   Mother  Carey  had  always 

238 


A  Letter  from  Germany 


said  that  if  Julia  had  any  sense  of  humor  she 
would  discover  for  herself  what  a  solemn  prig 
she  was,  and  mend  her  ways,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  this  might  be  true  in  course  of  time. 

"What '11  we  do  with  all  the  milk?"  now  de- 
manded Peter,  who  had  carried  it  all  the  way 
from  the  Pophams',  and  to  whom  it  appeared 
therefore  of  exaggerated  importance. 

"Angel  boy!"  cried  Nancy,  embracing  him. 
"The  only  practical  member  of  the  family! 
What  wouldst  thou  suggest?" 

"Drink  it,"  was  the  terse  reply. 

"And  so't  shall  be,  my  liege!  Fetch  the 
beaker,  lackey,"  identifying  Cyril  with  a  royal 
gesture.  "Also  crystal  water  from  the  well, 
which  by  the  command  of  our  Cousin  Ann  will 
speedily  flow  in  a  pipe  within  the  castle  walls. 
There  are  healths  to  be  drunk  this  day  when  we 
assemble  under  the  Hamilton  maple,  and  first 
and  most  loyally  the  health  of  our  American 
Consul  at  Breslau,  Germany!" 


XXV 

"FOLLOWING  THE  GLEAM" 

If  the  summer  months  had  brought  many  changes 
to  the  dwellers  in  the  Yellow  House  and  the 
House  of  Lords,  the  autumn  was  responsible 
for  many  more.  Cousin  Ann's  improvements 
were  set  in  motion  and  were  promised  to  be  in 
full  force  before  cold  weather  set  in,  and  the 
fall  term  at  Beulah  Academy  had  opened  with 
six  new,  unexpected,  and  interesting  students. 
Happily  for  the  Careys  and  happily  for  Beulah, 
the  old  principal,  a  faithful  but  uninspired 
teacher,  had  been  called  to  Massachusetts  to  fill 
a  higher  position;  and  only  a  few  days  before 
the  beginning  of  the  term,  a  young  college  man, 
Ralph  Thurston,  fresh  from  Bowdoin  and  need- 
ing experience,  applied  for  and  received  the 
appointment.  The  thrill  of  rapture  that  ran 
like  an  electric  current  through  the  persons  of 
the  feminine  students  when  they  beheld  Ralph 
Thurston  for  the  first  time, — dignified,  schol- 
arly, unmistakably  the  gentleman, — beheld  him 
mount  the  platform  in  the  assembly  room,  and 
knew. him  for  their  own,  this  can  better  be 
imagined  than  described !  ]  He  was  handsome, 

240 


Following  the  Gleam 


he  was  young,  he  had  enough  hair  (which 
their  principals  seldom  had  possessed),  he  did 
not  wear  spectacles,  he  had  a  pleasing  voice, 
and  a  manner  of  speaking  that  sent  tremors 
of  delight  up  and  down  a  thirteen-year-old 
spine.  He  had  a  merry  wit  and  a  hearty  laugh, 
but  one  had  only  to  look  at  him  closely  to  feel 
that  he  had  borne  burdens  and  that  his  attain- 
ments had  been  bought  with  a  price.  He  was 
going  to  be  difficult  to  please,  and  the  girls  of 
all  ages  drew  deep  breaths  of  anticipation  and 
knew  that  they  should  study  as  never  before. 
The  vice-principal,  a  lady  of  fine  attainments, 
was  temporarily  in  eclipse,  and  such  an  astound- 
ing love  for  the  classics  swept  through  young 
Beulah  that  nobody  could  understand  it.  Ralph 
Thurston  taught  Latin  and  Greek  himself,  but 
parents  did  not  at  first  observe  the  mysterious 
connection  between  cause  and  effect.  It  was  all 
very  young  and  artless  and  innocent;  helpful 
and  stimulating  too,  for  Thurston  was  no  bud- 
ding ladies'  man,  but  a  thoroughly  good  fellow, 
manly  enough  to  attract  the  boys  and  hold  their 
interest. 

The  entrance  of  the  four  Careys  and  two 
Lords  into  the  list  of  students  had  an  inspiring 
effect  upon  the  whole  school.  So  far  as  scholar- 
ship was  concerned  they  were  often  outstripped 

241 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


by  their  country  neighbors,  but  the  Careys  had 
seen  so  much  of  the  world  that  they  had  a  great 
deal  of  general  culture,  and  the  academy  atmo- 
sphere was  affected  by  it.  Olive,  Nancy,  and 
Gilbert  went  into  the  highest  class;  Kathleen, 
Julia,  and  Cyril  into  the  one  below. 

^The  intimacy  of  Nancy  and  Olive  was  a 
romantic  and  ardent  one.  Olive  had  never  had 
a  real  companion  in  her  life ;  Nancy's  friends 
dotted  the  universe  wherever  she  had  chanced 
to  live.  Olive  was  uncommunicative,  shy,  and 
stiff  with  all  but  a  chosen  few;  Nancy  was  at 
ease  in  all  assemblies.  It  was  Nancy's  sympa- 
thy and  enthusiasm  and  warmth  that  attracted 
Olive  Lord,  and  it  was  the  combination  of 
Olive's  genius  and  her  need  of  love,  that  held 
Nancy. 

Never  were  two  human  creatures  more  unlike 
in  their  ways  of  thought.  Olive  had  lived  in 
Beulah  seven  years,  and  knew  scarcely  any  one 
because  of  her  father's  eccentricities  and  his 
indifference  to  the  world;  but  had  you  immured 
Nancy  in  a  convent  she  would  have  made  a 
large  circle  of  acquaintances  from  the  window 
of  her  cell,  before  a  month  passed  over  her  head. 
She  had  an  ardent  interest  in  her  fellow  crea- 
tures, and  whenever  they  strayed  from  the  strict 
path  of  rectitude,  she  was  consumed  with  a 

242 


Following  the  Gleam 


desire  to  set  them  straight.  If  Olive  had  seen 
a  drunken  man  lying  in  a  ditch,  ^she  would 
scarcely  have  looked  at  him,  much  less  inquired 
his  name.  Nancy  would  have  sat  by  until  he 
recovered  himself,  if  possible,  or  found  some- 
body to  take  him  to  his  destination.  As  for  the 
delightful  opportunity  of  persuading  him  of  his 
folly,  she  would  have  jumped  at  the  chance 
when  she  was  fifteen  or  sixteen,  but  as  she  grew 
older  she  observed  a  little  more  reticence  in 
these  delicate  matters,  at  least  when  she  was 
endeavoring  to  reform  her  elders.  She  had 
succeeded  in  making  young  Nat  Harmon  stop 
cigarette  smoking,  but  he  was  privately  less 
convinced  of  the  error  of  his  ways  than  he  was 
bewitched  by  Nancy.  She  promised  readily  to 
wear  a  blue  ribbon  and  sit  on  the  platform  in  the 
Baptist  Chapel  at  the  Annual  Meeting  of  the 
Junior  Temperance  Eeague.  On  the  eve  of  the 
affair  she  even  would  gladly  have  made  a  speech 
when  the  president  begged  her  to  do  so,  but  the 
horror-stricken  Olive  succeeded  in  stopping  her, 
and  her  mother  firmly  stood  by  Olive. 

"Oh!  all  right;  I  don't  care  a  bit  about  it, 
Muddy,"  she  answered  nonchalantly.  "Only 
there  is  something  splendid  about  rising  from 
a  band  of  blue-ribboned  girls  and  boys  and 
addressing  the  multitude  for  a  great  cause." 

US 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"What  do  you  know  about  this  great  cause, 
Nancy  dear,  at  your  age?" 

"Oh,  not  much!  but  you  don't  have  to  know 
much  if  you  say  it  loud  and  clear  to  the  back 
settees.  I've  watched  how  it  goes!  It  was 
thrilling  when  we  gave  'Esther  the  Beautiful 
Queen'  in  the  Town  Hall;  when  we  waved  our 
hands  and  sang  'Haman!  Haman!  Long  live 
Haman!'  I  almost  fainted  with  joy." 

"It  was  very  good;  I  liked  it  too;  but  perhaps 
if  you  "faint  with  joy'  whenever  your  feet  touch 
a  platform,  it  will  be  more  prudent  for  you  to 
keep  away!"  and  Mother  Carey  laughed. 

"Very  well,  madam,  your  will  is  my  law! 
When  you  see  the  youth  of  Beulah  treading  the 
broad  road  that  Ieadeth  to  destruction,  and 
looking  on  the  wine  when  it  is  red  in  the  cup, 
remember  that  you  withheld  my  hand  and 
voice!" 

Gilbert  and  Cyril  were  much  together,  partic- 
ularly after  CyrilY'standing  had  been  increased 
in  Beulah  by  the  news  that  Mr.  Thurston 
thought  him  a  remarkable  mathematician  and 
perhaps  the  leading  student  in  his  class.  Cyril 
himself,  too  pale  for  a  country  boy  of  fourteen, 
narrow-shouldered,  silent,  and  timid,  took  this 
unexpected  fame  with  absolute  terror,  but 
Olive's  pride  delighted  in  it  and  she  positively 

£44 


Following  the  Gleam 


bloomed,  in  the  knowledge  that  her  brother 
was  appreciated.  She  herself  secretly  thought 
books  were  rather  a  mistake  when  paints  and 
brushes  were  at  hand,  and  it  was  no  wonder 
that  she  did  not  take  high  rank,  seeing  that 
she  painted  an  hour  before  school,  and  all  day 
Saturday,  alternating  her  work  on  the  guest 
chamber  of  the  Yellow  House  with  her  por- 
trait of  Nancy  for  Mother  Carey's  Christmas 
present. 

Kathleen  and  Julia  had  fallen  into  step  and 
were  good  companions.  Kathleen  had  never 
forgotten  her  own  breach  of  good  manners  and 
family  loyalty;  Julia  always  remembered  the 
passion  of  remorse  that  Kathleen  felt,  a  remorse 
that  had  colored  her  conduct  to  Julia  ever  since. 
Julia  was  a  good  plodder,  and  Mr.  Thurston 
complimented  her  on  the  excellence  of  her 
Latin  recitations,  when  he  had  his  wits  about 
him  and  could  remember  that  she  existed.  He 
never  had  any  difficulty  in  remembering  Nancy. 
She  was  not,  it  must  be  confessed,  especially 
admirable  as  a  verbatim  et  literatim  "reciter." 
Sometimes  she  forgot  entirely  what  the  book 
had  said  on  a  certain  topic,  but  she  usually  had 
some  original  observation  of  her  own  to  offer 
by  way  of  compromise.  At  first  Mr.  Thurston 
thought  that  she  was  trying  to  conceal  her  lack 

245 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


of  real  knowledge,  and  dazzle  her  instructor  at 
the  same  time,  so  that  he  should  never  discover 
her  ignorance.  Later  on  he  found  where  her 
weakness  and  her  strength  lay.  She  adapted,  in- 
vented, modified:  things  naturally,  —  embroid- 
ered all  over  her  task,  so  to  speak,  and  delivered 
it  in  somewhat  different  shape  from  the  other 
girls.  (When  she  was  twelve  she  pricked  her 
finger  in  sewing  and  made  a  blood-stain  on  the 
little  white  mull  apron  that  she  was  making. 
The  stuff  was  so  delicate  that  she  did  not  dare 
to  attempt  any  cleansing  process,  and  she  was 
in  a  great  hurry  too,  so  she  embroidered  a  green 
four  (leaf  clover  over  the  bloodstain,  and  all  the 
family  exclaimed,  "How  like  Nancy!")  Gram- 
mar teased  Nancy,  algebra  and  geometry  routed 
her,  horse,  foot,  and  dragoons.  No  room  for  em- 
broidery there!  Languages  delighted  her,  map- 
drawing  bored  her,  and  composition  intoxicated 
her,  although  she  was  better  at  improvising  than 
at  the  real  task  of  setting  down  her  thoughts  in 
black  and  white.  The  class  chronicles  and  pro- 
phecies and  songs  and  poems  would  flow  to  her 
inevitably,  but  Kathleen  would  be  the  one  who 
would  give  new  grace  and  charm  to  them  if  she 
were  to  read  them  to  an  audience. 

HowBeulah  Academy  beamed,  and  applauded, 
and  wagged  its  head  in  pride  on  a  certain  day 

246 


Following  the  Gleam 


before  Thanksgiving,  when  there  were  exercises 
in  the  assembly  room.  Olive  had  drawn  The 
Landing  of  the  Pilgrims  on  the  largest  of  the 
blackboards,  and  Nancy  had  written  a  merry 
little  story  that  caused  great  laughter  and  ap- 
plause in  the  youthful  audience.  Gilbert  had 
taken  part  in  a  debate  and  covered  himself  with 
glory,  and  Kathleen  closed  the  impromptu  pro- 
gramme by  reciting  Tennyson's  — 

O  young  Mariner, 
You  from  the  haven 
Under  the  sea-cliff, 
You  that  are  watching 
The  gray  Magician 
With  eyes  of  wonder,  .  .  . 
follow  the  Gleam. 


Great  the  Master, 
And  sweet  the  Magic, 
When  over  the  valley, 
In  early  summers, 
Over  the  mountain, 
On  human  faces, 
And  all  around  me, 
Moving  to  melody 
Floated  the  Gleam. 

O  young  Mariner, 
Down  to  the  haven, 
Call  your  companions, 
Launch  your  vessel 

247 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


And  crowd  your  canvas, 
And,  ere  it  vanishes 
Over  the  margin, 
After  it,  follow  it, 
Follow  the  Gleam. 

Kathleen's  last  year's  brown  velveteen  dis- 
closed bronze  slippers  and  stockings, — a  novelty 
in  Beulah,  — her  hair  fell  in  such  curls  as  Beulah 
had  rarely  beheld,  and  her  voice  was  as  sweet  as 
a  thrush's  note;  so  perhaps  it  is  not  strange  that 
the  poem  set  a  kind  of  fashion  at  the  academy, 
and  "following  the  gleam"  became  a  sort  of  text 
by  which  to  study  and  grow  and  live. 

[Thanksgiving  Day  approached,  and  every- 
body was  praying  for  a  flurry  of  snow,  just 
enough  to  give  a  zest  to  turkey  and  cranberry 
sauce.  On  the  twentieth  it  suddenly  occurred  to 
Mother  Carey  that  this  typical  New  England 
feast  day  would  be  just  the  proper  time  for  the 
housewarming,  so  the  Lord  children,  the  Pop- 
hams,  and  the  Harmons  were  all  bidden  to  come 
at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Great  prepara- 
tions ensued.  Rows  of  Jack  o'  Lanterns  decorated 
the  piazza,  and  the  Careys  had  fewer  pumpkin 
pies  in  November  than  their  neighbors,  in  con- 
sequence of  their  extravagant  inroads  upon  the 
golden  treasures  of  the  aft  garden.  Inside  were 
a  few  late  asters  and  branches  of  evergreen,  and 

248 


Following  the  Gleam 


the  illumination  suggested  that  somebody  had 
been  lending  additional  lamps  and  candles  for 
the  occasion.  The  original  equipment  of  clothes 
possessed  by  the  Careys  on  their  arrival  in  Beu- 
lah  still  held  good,  and  looked  well  by  lamplight, 
so  that  the  toilettes  were  fully  worthy  of  so  im- 
portant a  function. 

Olive's  picture  of  Nancy  was  finished,  and  she 
announced  the  absolute  impossibility  of  keeping 
it  until  Christmas,  so  it  reached  the  Yellow 
House  on  Thanksgiving  morning.  When  it  was 
unwrapped  by  Nancy  and  displayed  for  the  first 
time  to  the  family,  Mother  Carey's  lips  parted, 
her  eyes  opened  in  wonder,  but  no  words  came 
for  an  instant,  in  the  bewilderment  of  her  mind. 
Olive  had  written  the  title  "Young  April"  under 
the  picture.  Nancy  stood  on  a  bit  of  dandelion- 
dotted  turf,  a  budding  tree  in  the  background, 
her  arm  flung  over  the  neck  of  a  Jersey  calf.  The 
calf  had  sat  for  his  portrait  long  before,  but 
Nancy  had  been  added  since  May.  Olive,  by  a 
clever  inspiration,  had  turned  Nancy's  face  away 
and  painted  her  with  the  April  breeze  blowing 
her  hair  across  her  cheek.  She  was  not  good  at 
painting  features,  her  art  was  too  crude,  but 
somehow  the  real  thing  was  there;  and  the  like- 
ness to  Nancy,  in  figure,  pose,  and  hair,  was  so 
unmistakable  that  her  mother  caught  her  breath. 

249 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


As  for  the  calf,  he,  at  least,  was  distinctly  in 
Olive's  line,  and  he  was  painted  with  a  touch 
of  genius. 

"It  is  better  of  the  calf  than  it  is  of  you, 
Nancy,"  said  Gilbert  critically. 

"Is n't  Mr.  Bossy  lovely?  "  his  sister  responded 
amiably.  "  Would  n't  he  put  any  professional 
tjeauty  out  of  countenance?  I  am  proud  to  be 
painted  beside  him!  Do  you  like  it,  Muddy 
dear?" 

"Like  it?"  she  exclaimed,  "it  is  wonderful!  It 
mustibe  sent  to  Boston  for  criticism,  and  we 
must  invent  some  way  of  persuading  Mr.  Lord 
to  give  Olive  the  best  instruction  to  be  had.  This 
picture  is  even  better  than  anything  she  has 
done  in  the  painted  chamber.  I  should  n't  won- 
der a  bit,  Nancy,  if  little  Beulah  were  to  be  very 
proud  of  Olive  in  the  years  to  come ! " 

Nancy  was  transported  at  her  mother's  praise. 
"I  felt  it,  I  knew  it!  I  always  said  Olive  was  a 
genius,"  she  cried,  clapping  her  hands.  "Olive 
is  '  following  the  gleam ' !  Can't  you  feel  the  wind 
blowing  my  hair  and  dress?  Don't  you  see  that 
the  calf  is  chewing  his  cud  and  is  going  to  move 
in  just  a  minute?  Olive's  animals  are  always  just 
going  to  move!  —  Oh,  Muddy  dear!  when  you 
see  Olive  nowadays,  smiling  and  busy  and  happy, 
are  n't  you  glad  you  stretched  your  wings  and 

250 


Following  the  Gleam 


took  her  under  them  with  the  rest  of  us?  And 
don't  you  think  you  could  make  a  'new  beast' 
out  of  Mr.  Henry  Lord,  or  is  he  too  old  a  beast 
even  for  Mother  Carey?" 


XXVI 

A  ZOOLOGICAL  FATHER 

That  was  just  what  Mother  Carey  was  wonder- 
ing when  Nancy  spoke,  and  as  the  result  of  sev- 
eral hours'  reflection  she  went  out  for  a  walk  just 
before  dusk  and  made  her  way  towards  The 
Cedars  with  a  package  under  her  cloak. 

She  followed  the  long  lane  that  led  to  the 
house,  and  knocked  at  the  front  door  rather  tim- 
idly. In  her  own  good  time  Mrs.  Bangs  answered 
the  knock  and  admitted  Mrs.  Carey  into  the 
dreariest  sitting  room  she  had  ever  entered. 

"I  am  Mrs.  Carey  from  the  Hamilton  house," 
she  said  to  Mrs.  Bangs.  "Will  you  ask  Mr.  Lord 
if  he  will  see  me  for  a  moment?" 

Mrs.  Bangs  was  stupefied  at  the  request,  for, 
in  her  time,  scarcely  a  single  caller  from  the  vil- 
lage had  crossed  the  threshold,  although  there 
had  been  occasional  visitors  from  Portland  or 
Boston. 

Mrs.  Carey  waited  a  few  moments,  silently  re- 
garding the  unequalled  bareness,  ugliness,  and 
cheerlessness  of  the  room.  "Olive  has  a  sense  of 
beauty,"  she  thought,  "and  Olive  is  sixteen;  it 
is  Olive  who  ought  to  make  this  place  different 

252 


A  Zoological  Father 


from  what  it  is,  and  she  can,  unless  her  father  is 
the  stumbling-block  in  the  way." 

[At  this  moment  the  possible  stumbling-block, 
Henry  Lord,  Ph.D.,  came  in  and  greeted  her 
civilly.  His  manner  was  never  genial,  for  there 
was  neither  love  in  his  heart  nor  warm  blood  in 
his  veins;  but  he  was  courteous,  for  he  was  an 
educated  fossil,  of  good  birth  and  up-bringing. 
He"  had  been  dissecting  specimens  in  his  work- 
room, and  he  looked  capable  of  dismembering 
Mother  Carey;  but  bless  your  heart,  she  had 
weapons  in  her  unseen  armory  that  were  capa- 
ble of  bringing  confusion  to  his  paltry  appa- 
ratus !  —  among  others  a  delicate,  slender  little 
sword  that  pierced  deep  on  occasion. 

Henry  Lord  was  of  medium  height;  spare, 
clean-shaven,  thin-lipped,  with  scanty  auburn 
hair,  high  forehead,  and  small  keen  eyes,  espe- 
cially adapted  to  the  microscope,  though  ill 
fitted  to  use  in  friendly  conversation. 

"We  are  neighbors,  Professor  Lord,  though 
we  have  never  met,"  said  Mrs.  Carey,  rising  and 
giving  him  her  hand- 

"My  children  know  you  better  than  I,"  he 
answered,  "and  I  feel  it  very  kind  in  you  to  allow 
them  to  call  on  you  so  frequently."  They  had 
lived  at  the  Yellow  House  for  four  months  save 
at  meal  times,  but  as  their  father  was  unaware 

253 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


of  the  number  and  extent  of  their  visits  Mrs. 
Carey  thought  it  useless  to  speak  of  them,  so 
she  merely  said: 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  have  them  with  us. 
My  children  have  left  many  friends  behind  them 
in  Massachusetts  and  elsewhere,  and  might  have 
been  lonely  in  Beulah;  besides,  I  often  think  the 
larger  the  group  (within  certain  limits),  the  bet- 
ter chance  children  have  of  learning  how  to  live." 

"I  should  certainly  not  have  permitted  Olive 
and  Cyril  to  attend  the  local  academy  but  for 
your  family,"  said  Professor  Lord.  "  These  coun- 
try schools  never  have  any  atmosphere  of  true 
scholarliness,  and  the  speech  and  manners  of 
both  teachers  and  pupils  are  execrable." 

"I  dare  say  that  is  often  the  case.  If  the  aca- 
demies could  furnish  such  teachers  as  existed 
fifty  years  ago;  and  alas!  if  we  parents  could  fur- 
nish such  vigorous,  determined,  ambitious,  self- 
denying  pupils  as  used  to  be  sent  out  from  coun- 
try homes,  we  should  have  less  to  complain  of. 
Of  course  we  are  peculiarly  fortunate  here  in 
Beulah." 

Mr.  Lord  looked  faintly  amused  and  infinitely 
superior.  "I  am  afraid,  my  dear  lady,"  he  re- 
marked, "that  you  have  not  had  long  enough  ex- 
perience to  comprehend  the  slenderness  of  Mr. 
Philpot's  mental  equipment." 

254 


A  Zoological  Father 


"  Oh,  Mr.  Philpot  resigned  nearly  three  months 
ago,"  said  Mrs.  Carey  easily,  giving  Henry  Lord, 
Ph.D.,  her  first  stab,  and  a  look  of  amusement 
on  her  own  behalf.  "Ralph  Thurston,  the  pre- 
sent principal,  is  a  fine,  unusual  fellow." 

"Really?  The  children  have  never  mentioned 
any  change,  but  I  regret  to  say  I  am  absent- 
minded  at  meals.  The  death  of  my  wife  left 
many  gaps  in  the  life  of  the  household." 

"So  that  you  have  to  be  mother  and  father  in 
one!"    (Stab  two:  very  delicately  delivered.) 

"  I  fear  I  am  too  much  of  a  student  to  be  called 
a  good  family  man." 

"So  I  gathered."  (Stab  three.  She  wanted 
to  provoke  curiosity.) 

Mr.  Lord  looked  annoyed.  He  knew  his  un- 
popularity, and  did  not  wish  any  village  gossip 
to  reach  the  ears  of  strangers.  "You,  my  dear 
ladam,  are  capable  of  appreciating  my  devo- 
tion to  my  life  work,  which  the  neighbors  natu- 
rally wholly  misunderstand,"  he  said. 

"I  gathered  nothing  from  the  neighbors,"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Carey,  "but  a  woman  has  only  to 
know  children  well  to  see  at  a  glance  what  they 
need.  You  are  so  absorbed  in  authorship  just 
now,  that  naturally  it  is  a  little  hard  for  the 
young  people;  but  I  suppose  there  are  breathing 
places,  'between  books'?" 

255 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"There  are  no  breathing  places  between  mine; 
there  will  be  six  volumes,  and  I  am  scarcely  half 
through  the  third,  although  I  have  given  seven 
years  to  the  work.  Still,  I  have  an  excellent 
housekeeper  who  attends  to  all  our  simple  needs. 
My  children  are  not  fitted  for  society." 

"No,  not  quite."  (Stab  four).  "That  is  the 
reason  they  ought  to  see  a  good  deal  of  it,  but 
they  are  very  fine  children  and  very  clever." 

"I  am  glad  you  think  so,  but  they  certainly 
write  bad  English  and  have  no  general  know- 
ledge whatsoever." 

"Oh,  well,  that  will  come,  doubtless,  when 
you  have  more  time  with  them."  (Stab  five.) 
"  I  often  think  such  mysterious  things  as  good 
speech  and  culture  can  never  be  learned  in 
school.  I  should  n't  wonder  if  that  were  our 
department,  Dr.  Lord!"  (Stab  six.)  "However, 
you  will  agree,  modest  parent  as  you  are,  that 
your  Olive  is  a  genius?" 

"I  have  never  observed  it,"  replied  her  father. 
"I  cannot,  of  course,  allow  her  to  practice  on 
any  musical  instrument,  because  my  studies 
demand  quiet,  but  I  don't  think  she  cares  for 
music." 

"She  dtaws  and  paints,  however,  in  the  most 
astonishing  way,  and  she  has  a  passionate  energy, 
and  concentration,  and  devotion  to  her  work 

256 


A  Zoological  Father 


that  I  have  never  seen  coupled  with  anything 
but  an  extraordinary  talent.  She  is  destined  to 
go  very  far,  in  my  opinion.' ' 

"Not  too  far,  I  hope,"  remarked  Mr.  Lord, 
with  an  icy  smile.  "  Olive  can  paint  on  plush  and 
china  as  much  as  she  likes,  but  I  am  not  partial 
to  'careers'  for  young  women." 

"Nor  am  I;  save  when  the  gift  is  so  com- 
manding, so  obvious,  that  it  has  to  be  reckoned 
with;  —  but  I  must  not  delay  my  business  any 
longer,  nor  keep  you  from  your  work.  We  are 
having  a  housewarming  this  evening  at  seven. 
Olive  and  Cyril  are  there  now,  helping  in  the 
preparations,  and  I  want  to  know  if  they  may 
stay  to  supper,  and  if  you  can  send  for  them  at 
half  past  nine  or  ten." 

"Certainly  they  may  stay,  though  I  should 
think  your  supper  table  could  hardly  stand  the 
strain." 

"Where  there  are  five  already,  two  more 
make  no  difference,  save  in  better  appetite  for 
all,"  said  Mother  Carey,  smiling  and  rising. 

"If  you  will  allow  me  to  get  my  hat  and  coat 
I  will  accompany  you  to  the  main  road,"  said 
Mr.  Lord,  going  to  the  front  hall,  and  then 
opening  the  door  for  Mrs.  Carey.  "Let  me  take 
your  parcel,  please." 

He  did  not  know  in  the  least  why  he  said  it 
257 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


and  why  he  did  it.  The  lady  had  interfered  with 
his  family  affairs  to  a  considerable  extent,  and 
had  made  several  remarks  that  would  have 
appeared  impertinent,  had  they  not  issued  from 
a  very  winsome,  beautiful  mouth.  Mrs.  Ossian 
Popham  or  Mrs.  Bill  Harmon  would  have  been 
shown  the  door  for  saying  less,  yet  here  was 
Henry  Lord,  Ph.D.,  ambling  down  the  lane  by 
Mother  Carey's  side,  thinking  to  himself  what 
a  burden  she  lifted  from  his  shoulders  by  her 
unaccountable  interest  in  his  unattractive  chil- 
dren. He  was  also  thinking  how  "springy"  was 
the  lady's  step  in  her  short  black  dress,  how 
brilliant  the  chestnut  hair  looked  under  the 
black  felt  hat,  and  how  white  the  skin  gleamed 
above  the  glossy  lynx  boa.  A  kind  of  mucil- 
aginous fluid  ran  in  his  veins  instead  of  blood, 
but  Henry  Lord,  Ph.D.,  had  his  assailable  side 
nevertheless,  and  he  felt  extraordinarily  good 
natured,  almost  as  if  the  third  volume  were 
finished,  with  public  and  publishers  clamoring 
for  its  appearance. 

"I  don't  know  where  Olive  could  have  got  any 
such  talent  as  you  describe,"  he  said,  as  they  were 
walking  along  the  lane.  "She  had  some  lessons 
long  ago,  I  remember,  and  her  mother  used  to 
talk  of  her  amusing  herself  with  pencil  and  paint, 
but  I  have  heard  nothing  of  it  for  years." 

258 


A  Zoological  Father 


"Ask  to  see  her  sketches  when  you  are  talking 
with  her  about  her  work  some  day,"  suggested 
Mother  Carey.  (Stab  seven.)  "As  a  matter  of 
fact  she  probably  gets  her  talent  from  you." 

"From  me!"  Printed  letters  fail  to  register 
the  amazement  in  Professor  Lord's  tone. 

"Why  not,  when  you  consider  her  specialty?" 

"What  specialty?" 

Really,  a  slender  sword  was  of  no  use  with  this 
man;  a  bludgeon  was  the  only  instrument,  yet 
it  might  wound,  and  she  only  wanted  to  prick. 
Had  the  creature  never  seen  Olive  sketching, 
nor  noted  her  choice  of  subjects? 

"She  paints  animals;  paints  nothing  else,  if 
she  can  help  it;  though  she  does  fairly  well  with 
other  things.  Is  it  impossible  that  your  study 
of  zoology  —  your  thought,  your  absorption  for 
years  and  years,  in  the  classification,  the  struc- 
ture, the  habits  of  animals  —  may  have  been 
stamped  on  your  child's  mind?  She  has  an  ardor 
equal  to  your  own,  only  showing  itself  in  a 
different  manner.  You  may  have  passed  on, 
in  some  mysterious  way,  your  knowledge  to 
Olive.  She  may  have  unconsciously  blended  it 
with  some  instinct  for  expression  of  her  own, 
and  it  comes  out  in  pictures.  Look  at  this, 
Professor  Lord.   Olive  gave  it  to  me  to-day." 

They  stood  together  at  the  gate  leading  out 
259 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


into  the  road,  and  Mrs.  Carey  unwrapped  the 
painting  and  poised  it  against  the  top  of  the 
gate. 

Olive's  father  looked  at  it  for  a  moment  and 
then  said,  "I  am  no  judge  of  these  things,  tech- 
nically or  otherwise,  but  it  certainly  seems  very 
creditable  work  for  a  girl  of  Olive's  age." 

"Oh,  it  is  surely  more  than  that!  My  girl 
Nancy  stands  there  in  the  flesh,  though  her  face 
is  hidden.  Look  at  the  wind  blowing,  look  at  the 
delightful,  the  enchanting  calf;  above  all  look 
at  the  title !  Who  in  the  world  but  a  little  genius 
could  have  composed  that  sketch,  breathing 
youth  in  every  inch  of  it,  —  and  called  it '  Young 
April ' !  Oh  !  Professor  Lord,  I  am  very  bold, 
because  your  wife  is  not  living,  and  it  is  women 
who  oftenest  see  these  budding  tendencies  in 
children;  forgive  me,  but  do  cherish  and  develop 
this  talent  of  Olive's." 

The  eyes  the  color  of  the  blue  velvet  bonnet 
were  turned  full  upon  Henry  Lord,  Ph.D.  They 
swam  in  tears  and  the  color  came  and  went  in 
her  cheek;  she  was  forty,  but  it  was  a  lovely 
cheek  still. 

"I  will  think  it  over,"  he  replied  with  some 
embarrassment  as  he  wrapped  the  picture  again 
and  handed  it  to  her.  "Meantime  I  am  cer- 
tainly very  much  obliged  to  you.   You  seem  to 

260 


A  Zoological  Father 


have  an  uncommon  knowledge  of  young  people. 

May  I  ask  if  you  are,  or  have  been,  a  teacher?" 

"Oh,  no!"  Mrs.  Carey  remarked  with  a  smile, 

" I  am  just  a  mother,  —  that 's  all !  Good  night." 


XXVII 

THE  CAREY  HOUSEWARMING 

The  housewarming  was  at  its  height,  and  every- 
body agreed  once  in  every  ten  minutes  that  it 
was  probably  the  most  beautiful  party  that  had 
ever  happened  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

Water  flowed  freely  through  Cousin  Ann's 
expensive  pipes,  that  had  been  buried  so  deep 
in  their  trenches  that  the  winter  frosts  could 
not  affect  them.  Natty  Harmon  tried  the 
kitchen  pump  secretly  several  times  during  the 
evening,  for  the  water  had  to  run  up  hill  all  the 
way  from  the  well  to  the  kitchen  sink,  and  he 
believed  this  to  be  a  continual  miracle  that 
might  "give  out"  at  any  moment.  The  stove 
in  the  cellar,  always  alluded  to  by  Gilbert  as 
the  "young  furnace,,,  had  not  yet  been  used, 
save  by  way  of  experiment,  but  it  was  believed 
to  be  a  perfect  success.  To-night  there  was  no 
need  of  extra  heat,  and  there  were  great  cere- 
monies to  be  observed  in  lighting  the  fires  on  the 
hearthstones.  They  began  with  the  one  in  the 
family  sitting  room;  Colonel  Wheeler,  Ralph 
Thurston,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bill  Harmon  with 
Natty  and  Rufus,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Popham  with 

262 


The  Carey  Housewarming 


Digby  and  Lallie  Joy,  all  standing  in  admiring 
groups  and  thrilling  with  delight  at  the  order 
of  events.  Mother  Carey  sat  by  the  fireplace; 
little  Peter,  fairly  radiant  with  excitement, 
leaning  against  her  knee  and  waiting  for  his  own 
great  moment,  now  close  at  hand. 

"When  ye  come  into  a  house,  salute  it;  and  if 
the  house  be  worthy,  let  your  peace  come  upon  it. 

"  To  all  those  who  may  dwell  therein  from  gen- 
eration to  generation  may  it  be  a  house  of  God,  a 
gate  of  heaven. 

"For  every  house  is  builded  by  some  man,  but 
he  that  built  all  things  is  God,  seeing  that  he  giveth 
to  every  one  of  us  life  and  breath  and  all  good 
things." 

jMother  Carey  spoke  these  words  so  simply 
and  naturally,  as  she  looked  towards  her  neigh- 
bors one  after  another,  with  her  hand  resting 
on  Peter's  curly  head,  that  they  hardly  knew 
whether  to  keep  quiet  or  say  Amen. 

"Was  that  the  Bible,  Osh?"  whispered  Bill 
Harmon. 

"Don't  know;  'most  everything  she  says 
sounds  like  the  Bible  or  Shakespeare  to  me." 

In  the  hush  that  followed  Mother  Carey's 
salutation  Gilbert  approached  with  a  basket 
over  his  arm,  and  quickly  and  neatly  laid  a 
little   fire   behind   the   brass   andirons   on   the 

263 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


hearth.  Then  Nancy  handed  Peter  a  loosely 
bound  sheaf,  saying:  "To  light  this  fire  I  give 
you  a  torch.  In  it  are  herbs  of  the  field  for  health 
of  the  body,  a  fern  leaf  for  grace,  a  sprig  of  elm 
for  peace,  one  of  oak  for  strength,  with  evergreen 
to  show  that  we  live  forever  in  the  deeds  we 
have  done.  To  these  we  have  added  rosemary 
for  remembrance  and  pansies  for  thoughts." 

Peter  crouched  on  the  hearth  and  lighted  the 
fire  in  three  places,  then  handed  the  torch  to 
Kathleen  as  he  crept  again  into  his  mother's 
lap,  awed  into  complete  silence  by  the  influence 
of  his  own  mystic  rite.  Kathleen  waved  the 
torch  to  and  fro  as  she  recited  some  beautiful 
lines  written  for  some  such  purpose  as  that 
which  called  them  together  to-night. 

"Burn,  fire,  burn! 
Flicker,  flicker,  flame! 
Whose  hand  above  this  blaze  is  lifted 
Shall  be  with  magic  touch  engifted, 
To  warm  the  hearts  of  chilly  mortals 
Who  stand  without  these  open  portals. 
The  touch  shall  draw  them  to  the  fire 

Higher,  higher 

By  desire. 
Whoso  shall  stand  at  this  hearth-stone, 

Flame-fanned, 
Shall  never,  never  stand  alone; 
Whose  house  is  dark  and  bare  and  old, 

264 


The  Carey  Housewarming 


Whose  hearth  is  cold, 
This  is  his  own. 
Flicker,  flicker,  nicker,  flame! 
Burn,  fire,  burn!" 

Next  came  Olive's  turn  to  help  in  the  cere- 
monies. Ralph  Thurston  had  found  a  line  of 
Latin  for  them  in  his  beloved  Horace:  Tibi 
splendet  focus  (For  you  the  hearth-fire  shines). 
Olive  had  painted  the  motto  on  a  long  narrow 
panel  of  canvas,  and,  giving  it  to  Mr.  Popham, 
stood  by  the  fireside  while  he  deftly  fitted  it 
into  the  place  prepared  for  it.  The  family 
had  feared  that  he  would  tell  a  good  story 
when  he  found  himself  the  centre  of  attraction, 
but  he  was  as  dumb  as  Peter,  and  for  the  same 
reason. 

"Olive  has  another  lovely  gift  for  the  Yellow 
House,"  said  Mother  Carey,  rising,  "and  to 
carry  out  the  next  part  of  the  programme  we 
shall  have  to  go  in  procession  upstairs  to  my 
bedroom." 

"Guess  there  wan't  many  idees  to  give  round 
to  other  folks  after  the  Lord  made  her!"  ex- 
claimed Bill  Harmon  to  his  wife  as  they  went 
through  the  lighted  hall. 

Gilbert,  at  the  head  of  the  procession,  held 
Mother  Hamilton's  picture,  which  had  been 
taken  from  the  old  brick  oven  where  "my  son 

265 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Tom"  had  hidden  it.  Mother  Carey's  bedroom, 
with  its  bouquets  of  field  flowers  on  the  wall 
paper,  was  gaily  lighted  and  ready  to  receive 
the  gift.  Nancy  stood  on  a  chair  and  hung  the 
portrait  over  the  fireplace,  saying,  "We  place 
this  picture  here  in  memory  of  Agatha,  mother 
of  Lemuel  Hamilton,  owner  of  the  Yellow  House. 
Underneath  it  we  lay  a  posy  of  pressed  daisies, 
buttercups,  and  Queen  Anne's  lace,  the  wild 
flowers  she  loved  best." 

Now  Olive  took  away  a  green  garland  cov- 
ering the  words  "Mater  Cara,"  that  she  had 
painted  in  brown  letters  just  over  the  bricks  of 
the  fireplace.  The  letters  were  in  old  English 
text,  and  a  riot  of  buttercups  and  grasses  twined 
their  way  amongst  them. 

"Mater  Cara  stands  for  'mother  dear,'"  said 
Nancy,  "and  thus  this  room  will  be  full  of 
memories  of  two  dear  mothers,  an  absent  and  a 
present  one." 

Then  Kathleen  and  Gilbert  and  Julia,  Mother 
Carey  and  Peter  bowed  their  heads  and  said 
in  chorus:  "0  Thou  who  dwellest  in  so  many 
homes,  possess  Thyself  of  this.  Thou  who  settest 
the  solitary  in  families,  bless  the  life  that  is  sheltered 
here.  Grant  that  trust  and  peace  and  comfort  may 
abide  within,  and  that  love  and  light  and  usefulness 
may  go  out  from  this  house  forever.  Amen.'9 

266 


The  Carey  Housewarming 


There  was  a  moment's  silence  and  then  all 
the  party  descended  the  stairs  to  the  dining 
room. 

"Ain't  they  the  greatest?"  murmured  Lallie 
Joy,  turning  to  her  father,  but  he  had  disap- 
peared from  the  group. 

The  dining  room  was  a  blaze  of  glory,  and 
great  merriment  ensued  as  they  took  their 
places  at  the  table.  Mother  Carey  poured  coffee, 
Nancy  chocolate,  and  the  others  helped  serve 
the  sandwiches  and  cake,  doughnuts  and  tarts, 

"Where  is  Mr.  Popham?"  asked  Nancy  at 
the  foot  of  the  table.  "We  cannot  be  happy 
without  Mr.  Popham." 

At  that  moment  the  gentleman  entered, 
bearing  a  huge  object  concealed  by  a  piece  of 
green  felt.  Approaching  the  dining  table,  he 
carefully  placed  the  article  in  the  centre  and 
removed  the  cloth. 

It  was  the  Dirty  Boy,  carefully  mended! 

The  guests  naturally  had  no  associations  with 
the  Carey  Curse,  and  the  Careys  themselves 
were  dumb  with  amazement  and  despair. 

"I've  seen  this  thing  layin'  in  the  barn  cham- 
ber in  a  thousand  pieces  all  summer!"  explained 
Mr.  Popham  radiantly.  "It  wan't  none  o'  my 
business  if  the  family  throwed  it  away  thinkin' 
it  wan't  no  more  good.    Thinks  I  to  myself,  I 

267 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


never  seen  anything  Osh  Popham  could  n't 
mend  if  he  took  time  enough  and  glue  enough; 
so  I  carried  this  little  feller  home  in  a  bushel 
basket  one  night  last  month,  an'  I've  spent 
eleven  evenin's  puttin'  him  together!  I  don't 
claim  he's  good 's  new,  'cause  he  ain't;  but  he's 
consid'able  better 'n  he  was  when  I  found  him 
layin'  in  the  barn  chamber!" 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Popham!"  said  Mrs.  Carey, 
her  eyes  twinkling  as  she  looked  at  the  laughing 
children.  "It  was  kind  of  you  to  spend  so  much 
time  in  our  behalf." 

"Well,  I  says  to  myself  there's  nothin'  too 
good  for  'em,  an'  when  it  comes  Thanksgivin' 
I'll  give  'em  one  thing  more  to  be  thankful  for!" 

"Quit  talkin',  Pop,  will  yer?"  whispered 
Digby,  nudging  his  father.  "You've  kep'  us 
from  startin'  to  eat  'bout  five  minutes  a'ready, 
an'  I'm  as  holler  as  a  horn!" 

It  was  as  cheery,  gay,  festive,  neighborly,  and 
friendly  a  supper  as  ever  took  place  in  the  dining 
room  of  the  Yellow  House,  although  Governor 
Weatherby  may  have  had  some  handsomer 
banquets  in  his  time.  When  it  was  over  all 
made  their  way  into  the  rosy,  bowery,  summer 
parlor.  Soon  another  fire  sparkled  and  snapped 
on  the  hearth,  and  there  were  songs  and  poems 
and  choruses  and  Osh  Popham's  fiddle,  to  say 

268 


The  Carey  Housewarming 


nothing  of  the  supreme  event  of  the  evening, 
his  rendition  of  "Fly  like  a  youthful  hart  or 
roe,  over  the  hills  where  spices  grow,"  to  Mother 
Carey's  accompaniment.  He  always  slipped  up 
his  glasses  during  this  performance  and  closed 
his  eyes,  but  neither  grey  hairs  nor  "specs" 
could  dim  the  radiant  smile  that  made  him  seem 
about  fifteen  years  old  and  the  junior  of  both 
his  children. 

Mrs.  Harmon  thought  he  sang  too  much, 
and  told  her  husband  privately  that  if  he  was 
a  canary  bird  she  should  want  to  keep  a  table 
cover  over  his  head  most  of  the  time,  but  he  was 
immensely  popular  with  the  rest  of  his  audience. 

Last  of  all  the  entire  company  gathered  round 
the  old-fashioned  piano  for  a  parting  hymn.  The 
face  of  the  mahogany  shone  with  delight,  and 
why  not,  when  it  was  doing  everything  (almost 
everything !)  within  the  scope  of  a  piano,  and  yet 
the  family  had  enjoyed  weeks  of  good  nourish- 
ing meals  on  what  had  been  saved  by  its  exer- 
tions. Also,  what  rational  family  could  mourn 
the  loss  of  an  irregularly  shaped  instrument 
standing  on  three  legs  and  played  on  one  corner? 
The  tall  silver  candle  sticks  gleamed  in  the  fire- 
light, the  silver  dish  of  polished  Baldwins  blushed 
rosier  in  the  glow.  Mother  Carey  played  the 
dear  old  common  metre  tune,  and  the  voices  rang 

269 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


out  in  Whittier's  hymn.  The  Careys  all  sang  like 
thrushes,  and  even  Peter,  holding  his  hymn  book 
upside  down,  put  in  little  bird  notes,  always  on 
the  key,  whenever  he  caught  a  familiar  strain. 

"  Once  more  the  liberal  year  laughs  out 
O'er  richer  stores  than  gems  or  gold; 
Once  more,  with  harvest-song  and  shout 
Is  Nature's  bloodless  triumph  told. 

"  We  shut  our  eyes,  the  flowers  bloom  on; 
We  murmur,  but  the  corn-ears  fill; 
We  choose  the  shadow,  but  the  sun 
That  casts  it  shines  behind  us  still. 

"  O  favors  every  year  made  new! 

O  gifts  with  rain  and  sunshine  sent ! 
The  bounty  overruns  our  due, 

The  fulness  shames  our  discontent." 


XXVIII 

"TIBI  SPLENDET  FOCUS" 

There  was  one  watcher  of  all  this,  and  one  list- 
ener, outside  of  the  Yellow  House,  that  none  of 
the  party  suspected,  and  that  was  Henry  Lord, 
Ph.D. 

When  he  left  Mrs.  Carey  at  the  gate  at  five 
o'clock,  he  went  back  to  his  own  house  and  or- 
dered his  supper  to  be  brought  him  on  a  tray  in 
his  study.  He  particularly  liked  this,  always,  as 
it  freed  him  from  all  responsibility  of  serving  his 
children,  and  making  an  occasional  remark;  and 
as  a  matter  of  fact  everybody  was  as  pleased 
as  he  when  he  ate  alone,  the  occasional  meals 
Olive  and  Cyril  had  by  themselves  being  the  only 
ones  they  ever  enjoyed  or  digested. 

He  studied  and  wrote  and  consulted  heavy 
tomes,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
pulled  out  colored  plates  from  portfolios,  all  with 
great  satisfaction  until  he  chanced  to  look  at  the 
clock  when  it  struck  ten.  He  had  forgotten  to 
send  for  the  children  as  he  had  promised  Mother 
Carey !  He  went  out  into  the  hall  and  called  Mrs. 
Bangs  in  a  stentorian  voice.   No  answer.  Irri- 

271 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


tated,  as  he  always  was  when  crossed  in  the 
slightest  degree,  he  went  downstairs  and  found 
the  kitchen  empty. 

"  Her  cub  of  a  nephew  has  been  staying  to  sup- 
per with  her,  guzzling  and  cramming  himself  at 
my  expense,"  he  thought,  "and  now  she  has 
walked  home  with  him!  It 's  perfect  nonsense 
to  go  after  a  girl  of  sixteen  and  a  boy  of  thirteen. 
As  if  they  could  n't  walk  along  a  country  road  at 
ten  o'clock!  Still,  it  may  look  odd  if  some  one 
does  n't  go,  and  I  can't  lock  the  house  till  they 
come,  anyway." 

He  drew  on  his  great  coat,  put  on  his  cap,  and 
started  down  the  lane  in  no  good  humor.  It  was 
a,  crisp,  starlight  night  and  the  ground  was  freez- 
ing fast.  He  walked  along,  his  hands  in  his  pock- 
ets, his  head  bent.  As  he  went  through  the  gate 
to  the  main  road  he  glanced  up.  The  Yellow 
House,  a  third  of  a  mile  distant,  was  a  blaze  of 
light !  There  must  have  been  a  candle  or  a  lamp 
in  every  one  of  its  windows,  he  thought.  The 
ground  rose  a  little  where  the  house  stood,  and 
although  it  could  not  be  seen  in  summer  because 
of  the  dense  foliage  everywhere,  the  trees  were 
nearly  bare  now. 

"My  handsome  neighbor  is  extravagant,"  he 
said  to  himself  with  a  grim  smile.  "Is  the  illu- 
mination for  Thanksgiving,  I  wonder?  Oh,  no,  I 

272 


Tibi  Splendet  Focus 


remember  she  said  the  party  was  in  the  nature 
of  a  housewarming." 

As  he  went  up  the  pathway  he  saw  that  the 
shades  were  up  and  no  curtains  drawn  anywhere. 
The  Yellow  House  had  no  intention  of  hiding  its 
lights  under  bushels  that  evening,  of  all  others; 
besides,  there  were  no  neighbors  within  a  long 
distance. 

Standing  on  the  lowest  of  the  governor's  "circ- 
'lar  steps"  he  could  see  the  corner  where  the 
group  stood  singing,  with  shining  faces:  — 

"Once  more  the  liberal  year  laughs  out 
O'er  richer  stores  than  gems  or  gold." 

Mother  Carey's  fine  head  rose  nobly  from  her 
simple  black  dress,  and  her  throat  was  as  white 
as  the  deep  lace  collar  that  was  her  only  orna- 
ment. 

Nancy  he  knew  by  sight,  and  Nancy  in  a  crim- 
son dress  was  singing  her  thankful  heart  out. 
Who  was  the  dark-haired  girl  standing  by  her 
side,  the  two  with  arms  round  each  other's  waists, 
—  his  own  Olive!  He  had  always  thought  her 
unattractive,  but  her  hair  was  smoothly  braided 
and  her  eyes  all  aglow.  Cyril  stood  between  Gil- 
bert and  Mother  Carey.  Cyril,  he  knew,  could 
not  carry  a  tune  to  save  his  life,  but  he  seemed  to 
be  opening  his  lips  and  uttering  words  all  the 

273 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


same.  Where  was  the  timid  eye,  the  "hangdog 
look,"  the  shrinking  manner,  he  so  disliked  in 
his  son?  Great  Heavens!  the  boy  laid  his  hand 
on  Mrs.  Carey's  shoulder  and  beat  time  there 
gently  with  a  finger,  as  if  a  mother's  shoulder 
could  be  used  for  any  nice,  necessary  sort  of  pur- 
pose. 

If  he  knocked  at  the  door  now,  he  thought,  he 
should  interrupt  the  party;  which  was  seemingly 
at  its  height.  He,  Henry  Lord,  Ph.D.,  certainly 
had  no  intention  of  going  in  to  join  it,  not  with 
Ossian  Popham  and  Bill  Harmon  as  fellow  guests. 

He  made  his  way  curiously  around  the  outside 
of  the  house,  looking  in  at  all  the  windows,  and 
by  choosing  various  positions,  seeing  as  much  as 
he  could  of  the  different  rooms.  Finally  he  went 
up  on  the  little  back  piazza,  attracted  by  the 
firelight  in  the  family  sitting  room.  There  was  a 
noble  fire,  and  once,  while  he  was  looking,  Digby 
Popham  stole  quietly  in,  braced  up  the  logs  with 
a  proprietary  air,  swept  up  the  hearth,  replaced 
the  brass  wire  screen,  and  stole  out  again  as 
quickly  as  possible,  so  that  he  might  not  miss  too 
much  of  the  party. 

"They  seem  to  feel  pretty  much  at  home," 
thought  Mr.  Lord. 

The  fire  blazed  higher  and  brighter.  It  lighted 
up  certain  words  painted  in  dark  green  and 

274 


" 


FOR    YOU    THE    HEARTH-FIRE    GLOWS 


Tibi  Splendet  Focus 


gold  on  the  white  panel  under  the  mantelpiece. 
He  pressed  his  face  quite  close  to  the  window, 
thinking  that  he  must  be  mistaken  in  seeing  such 
unconnected  letters  as  T-i-b-i,  but  gradually 
they  looked  clearer  to  him  and  he  read  distinctly 
"Tibi  splendet  focus." 

"Somebody  knows  his  Horace/'  thought 
Henry  Lord,  Ph.D.,  as  he  stumbled  off  the 
piazza.  "'  For  you  the  hearth-fire  glows.'  I  shan't 
go  in;  not  with  that  crew;  let  them  wait;  and  if 
it  gets  too  late,  somebody  else  will  walk  home 
with  the  children." 

,"For  you  the  hearth-fire  glows." 

He  picked  his  way  along  the  side  of  the  house 
to  the  front,  every  window  sending  out  its  candle 
gleam. 

"For  you  the  hearth-fire  glows." 

From  dozens  of  windows  the  welcome  shone. 
Its  gleams  and  sparkles  positively  pursued  him 
as  he  turned  his  face  towards  the  road  and  his 
own  dark,  cheerless  house.  Perhaps  he  had  bet- 
ter, on  the  whole,  keep  one  lamp  burning  in  the 
lower  part  after  this,  to  show  that  the  place  was 
inhabited? 

"For  you  the  hearth-fire  glows." 

He  had  "bricked  up"  the  fireplace  in  his  study 
and  put  an  air-tight  stove  in,  because  it  was  sim- 


275 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ply  impossible  to  feed  an  open  fire  and  write  a 
book  at  the  same  time.  He  did  n't  know  that 
you  could  write  twice  as  good  a  book  in  half  the 
time  with  an  open  fire  to  help  you!  He  did  n't 
know  any  single  one  of  the  myriad  aids  that  can 
come  to  you  from  such  cheery,  unexpected  sources 
of  grace  and  inspiration! 

"For  you  the  hearth-fire  glows/' 

Would  the  words  never  stop  ringing  in  his  ears? 
Perhaps,  after  all,  it  would  look  queer  to  Mrs. 
Carey  (he  cared  nothing  for  Popham  or  Harmon 
opinion)  if  he  left  the  children  to  get  home  by 
themselves.  Perhaps  — 

"for  you  the  hearth-fire  glows." 

Henry  Lord,  Ph.D.,  ascended  the  steps,  and 
plied  the  knocker.  Digby  Popham  came  out  of 
the  parlor  and  opened  the  front  door. 

Everybody  listened  to  see  who  was  the  late 
comer  at  the  party. 

"Will  you  kindly  tell  Miss  Olive  and  Master 
Cyril  Lord  that  their  father  has  called  for  them?" 

Mr.  Lord's  cold,  severe  voice  sounded  clearly 
in  the  parlor,  and  every  word  could  be  distinctly 
heard. 

Gilbert  and  Nancy  were  standing  together, 
and  Gilbert  whispered  instantly  to  his  sister: 


£76 


Tibi  Splendet  Focus 


"The  old  beast  has  actually  called  for  Olive  and 
Cyril!" 

"  Hush,  Gilly !  He  must  be  a  *  new  beast '  or  he 
would  n't  have  come  at  all!"  answered  Nancy. 


XXIX 

"TH'  ACTION  FINE" 

December,  January,  and  February  passed  with 
a  speed  that  had  something  of  magic  in  it.  The 
Careys  had  known  nothing  heretofore  of  the 
rigors  of  a  State  o'  Maine  winter,  but  as  yet  they 
counted  it  all  joy.  They  were  young  and  hearty 
and  merry,  and  the  air  seemed  to  give  them  all 
new  energy.  Kathleen's  delicate  throat  gave  no 
trouble  for  the  first  time  in  years ;  Nancy's  cheeks 
bloomed  more  like  roses  than  ever;  Gilbert,  grow- 
ing broader  shouldered  and  deeper  chested  daily, 
simply  revelled  in  skating  and  coasting;  even 
Julia  was  forced  into  an  activity  wholly  alien  to 
her  nature,  because  it  was  impossible  for  her  to 
keep  warm  unless  she  kept  busy. 

Mother  Carey  and  Peter  used  to  look  from  a 
bedroom  window  of  a  clear  cold  morning  and  see 
the  gay  little  procession  start  for  the  academy. 
Over  the  dazzling  snow  crust  Olive  and  Cyril 
Lord  would  be  skimming  to  meet  the  Careys,  al- 
ways at  the  same  point  at  the  same  hour.  There 
were  rough  red  coats  and  capes,  red  mittens, 
squirrel  caps  pulled  well  down  over  curly  and 
smooth  heads;  glimpses  of  red  woolen  stockings; 

278 


Th'  Action  Fine 


thick  shoes  with  rubbers  over  them;  great  par- 
cels of  books  in  straps.  They  looked  like  a  flock 
of  cardinal  birds,  Mother  Carey  thought,  as  the 
upturned  faces,  all  aglow  with  ruddy  color,  smiled 
their  morning  good-bye.  Gilbert  had  "stoked" 
the  great  stove  in  the  cellar  full  of  hard  wood  logs 
before  he  left,  and  Mrs.  Carey  and  Peter  had  a 
busy  morning  before  them  with  the  housework. 
The  family  had  risen  at  seven.  Julia  had  swept 
and  dusted;  Kathleen  had  opened  the  bedroom 
windows,  made  the  washstands  tidy,  filled  the 
water  pitchers,  and  changed  the  towels.  Gilbert 
had  carried  wood  and  Peter  kindlings,  for  the 
fires  that  had  to  be  laid  on  the  hearths  here  and 
there.  Mother  had  cooked  the  plain  breakfast 
while  Nancy  put  the  dining  room  in  order  and 
set  the  table,  and  at  eight  o'clock,  when  they  sat 
down  to  plates  piled  high  with  slices  of  brown 
and  white  bread,  to  dishes  of  eggs  or  picked-up 
cod  fish,  or  beans  warmed  over  in  the  pot,  with 
baked  potatoes  sometimes,  and  sometimes  milk 
toast,  or  Nancy's  famous  corn  muffins,  no  fam- 
ily of  young  bears  ever  displayed  such  appetites ! 
On  Saturday  mornings  there  were  griddle  cakes 
and  maple  syrup  from  their  own  trees;  for  Osh 
Popham  had  shown  them  in  the  spring  how  to 
tap  their  maples,  and  collect  the  great  pails  of 
sap  to  boil  down  into  syrup.   Mother  Carey  and 

279 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Peter  made  the  beds  after  the  departure  of  the 
others  for  school,  and  it  was  pretty  to  see  the 
sturdy  Peter-bird,  sometimes  in  his  coat  and 
mittens,  standing  on  the  easiest  side  of  the  beds 
and  helping  his  mother  to  spread  the  blankets 
and  comforters  smooth.  His  fat  legs  carried  him 
up  and  downstairs  a  dozen  times  on  errands,  while 
his  sweet  piping  voice  was  lifted  in  a  never  ending 
stream  of  genial  conversation,  as  he  told  his  mo- 
ther what  he  had  just  done,  what  he  was  doing  at 
the  present  moment,  how  he  was  doing  it,  and 
what  he  proposed  to  do  in  a  minute  or  two.  Then 
there  was  a  lull  from  half  past  ten  to  half  past 
eleven,  shortened  sometimes  on  baking  days,  when 
the  Peter-bird  had  his  lessons.  The  old-fashioned 
kitchen  was  clean  and  shining  by  that  time.  The 
stove  glistened  and  the  fire  snapped  and  crackled. 
The  sun  beamed  in  at  the  sink  window,  doing 
all  he  could  for  the  climate  in  the  few  hours  he 
was'permitted  to  be  on  duty  in  a  short  New  Eng- 
land winter  day.  Peter  sat  on  a  cricket  beside 
his  mother's  chair  and  clasped  his  "Reading 
without  Tears"  earnestly  and  rigidly,  believing 
it  to  be  the  key  to  the  universe.  Oh!  what  an 
hour  of  happiness  to  Mother  Carey  when  the  boy 
would  lift  the  very  copy  of  his  father's  face  to 
her  own;  when  the  well-remembered  smile  and 
the  dear  twinkle  of   the  eyes  in  Peter's  face 

280 


Th'  Action  Fine 


would  give  her  heart  a  stab  of  pain  that  was 
half  joy  after  all,  it  was  so  full  to  the  brim  of 
sweet  memories.  In  that  warm  still  hour,  when 
she  was  filling  the  Peter-bird's  mind  and  soul 
with  heavenly  learning,  how  much  she  learned 
herself!  Love  poured  from  her,  through  voice 
and  lips  and  eyes,  and  in  return  she  drank  it  in 
thirstily  from  the  little  creature  who  sat  there  at 
her  knee,  a  twig  growing  just  as  her  bending  hand 
inclined  it;  all  the  buds  of  his  nature  opening  out 
in  the  mother-sunshine  that  surrounded  him. 
Eleven  thirty  came  all  too  soon.  Then  before 
long  the  kettle  would  begin  to  sing,  the  potatoes 
to  bubble  in  the  saucepan,  and  Mother  Carey's 
spoon  to  stir  the  good  things  that  had  long  been 
sizzling  quietly  in  an  iron  pot.  Sometimes  it 
was  bits  of  beef,  sometimes  mutton,  but  the  re- 
sult was  mostly  a  toothsome  mixture  of  turnips 
and  carrots  and  onions  in  a  sea  of  delicious  gravy, 
with  surprises  of  meat  here  and  there  to  vary  any 
possible  monotony.  Once  or  twice  a  week  dump- 
lings appeared,  giving  an  air  of  excitement  to  the 
meal,  and  there  was  a  delectable  "poor  man's 
stew"  learned  from  Mrs.  Popham;  the  ingre- 
dients being  strips  of  parsnip,  potatoes  cut  in 
quarters,  a  slice  or  two  of  sweet  browned  pork 
for  a  flavor,  and  a  quart  of  rich  milk,  mixed 
with  the  parsnip  juices  into  an  appetizing  sauce. 

281 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


The  after  part  of  the  dinner  would  be  a  dish  of 
baked  apples  with  warm  gingerbread,  or  some- 
times a  deep  apple  pandowdy,  or  the  baked  In- 
dian pudding  that  was  a  syrupy,  fragrant  con- 
coction made  of  corn  meal  and  butter  and 
molasses  baked  patiently  in  the  oven  for  hours. 

Mother  had  the  dishes  to  wash  after  she  had 
tucked  the  Peter-bird  under  the  afghan  on  the 
sitting  room  sofa  for  his  daily  nap,  but  there  was 
never  any  grumbling  in  her  heart  over  the  weary 
days  and  the  unaccustomed  tasks;  she  was 
too  busy  "making  things  make  themselves."  If 
only  there  were  a  little  more  money!  That  was 
her  chief  anxiety;  for  the  unexpected,  the  outside 
sources  of  income  were  growing  fewer,  and  in  a 
year's  time  the  little  hoard  would  be  woefully 
small.  Was  she  doing  all  that  she  could,  she  won- 
dered, as  her  steps  flew  over  the  Yellow  House 
from  attic  to  cellar.  She  could  play  the  piano 
and  sing;  she  could  speak  three  languages  and 
read  four;  she  had  made  her  curtsy  at  two  for- 
eign courts ;  admiration  and  love  had  followed  her 
ever  since  she  could  remember,  and  here  she  was, 
a  widow  at  forty,  living  in  a  half -deserted  New 
England  village,  making  parsnip  stews  for  her 
children's  dinner.  Well,  it  was  a  time  of  prepara- 
tion, and  its  rigors  and  self-denials  must  be  cheer- 

282 


Th'  Action  Fine 


fully  faced.  She  ought  to  be  thankful  that  she 
was  able  to  get  a  simple  dinner  that  her  children 
could  eat;  she  ought  to  be  thankful  that  her  beef 
and  parsnip  stews  and  cracker  puddings  and  corn 
bread  were  being  transmuted  into  blood  and 
brawn  and  brain-tissue,  to  help  the  world  along 
somewhere  a  little  later !  She  ought  to  be  grate- 
ful that  it  was  her  blessed  fortune  to  be  sending 
four  rosy,  laughing,  vigorous  young  people  down 
the  snowy  street  to  the  white-painted  academy; 
that  it  was  her  good  luck  to  see  four  heads  bend- 
ing eagerly  over  their  books  around  the  evening 
lamp,  and  have  them  all  turn  to  her  for  help  and 
encouragement  in  the  hard  places.  Why  should 
she  complain,  so  long  as  the  stormy  petrels  were 
all  working  and  playing  in  Mother  Carey's  water 
garden  where  they  ought  to  be;  gathering 
strength  to  fly  over  or  dive  under  the  ice-pack 
and  climb  Shiny  Wall?  There  is  never  any  gate 
in  the  wall ;  Tom  the  Water  Baby  had  found  that 
out  for  himself;  so  it  is  only  the  plucky  ones  who 
are  able  to  surmount  the  thousand  difficulties 
they  encounter  on  their  hazardous  journey  to 
Peacepool.  How  else,  if  they  had  not  learned 
themselves,  could  Mother  Carey's  chickens  go 
out  over  the  seas  and  show  good  birds  the  way 
home?  At  such  moments  Mrs.  Carey  would  look 
at  her  image  in  the  glass  and  say,  "No  whimper- 

283 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ing,  madam!  You  can't  have  the  joys  of  mother- 
hood without  some  of  its  pangs !  Think  of  your 
blessings,  and  don't  be  a  coward !  — 

Who  sweeps  a  room  as  by  God's  laws 
Makes  that  and  th'  action  fine." 

Then  her  eyes  would  turn  from  blue  velvet  to 
blue  steel,  and  strength  would  flow  into  her  from 
some  divine,  benignant  source  and  transmute 
her  into  father  as  well  as  mother! 

Was  the  hearth  fire  kindled  in  the  Yellow 
House  sending  its  glow  through  the  village  as  well 
as  warming  those  who  sat  beside  it?  There  were 
Christmas  and  New  Year's  and  St.  Valentine  par- 
ties, and  by  that  time  Bill  Harmon  saw  the  wood- 
pile in  the  Carey  shed  grow  beautifully  less.  He 
knew  the  price  per  cord,  —  no  man  better;  but 
he  and  Osh  Popham  winked  at  each  other  one 
windy  February  day  and  delivered  three  cords 
for  two,  knowing  that  measurement  of  wood  had 
not  been  included  in  Mother  Carey's  education. 
Natty  Harmon  and  Digby  Popham,  following 
examples  a  million  per  cent  better  than  parental 
lectures,  asked  one  afternoon  if  they  should  n't 
saw  and  chop  some  big  logs  for  the  fireplaces. 

Mrs.  Carey  looked  at  them  searchingly,  won- 
dering if  they  could  possibly  guess  the  state  of 
her  finances,  concluded  they  could  n't  and  said 

284 


Th'  Action  Fine 


smilingly:  "Indeed  I  will  gladly  let  you  saw  for 
an  hour  or  two  if  you  '11  come  and  sit  by  the  fire 
on  Saturday  night,  when  we  are  going  to  play 
spelling  games  and  have  doughnuts  and  root 
beer." 

The  Widow  Berry,  who  kept  academy  board- 
ers, sent  in  a  luscious  mince  pie  now  and  then, 
and  Mrs.  Popham  and  Mrs.  Harmon  brought 
dried  apples  or  pumpkins,  winter  beets  and  Bald- 
win apples.  It  was  little  enough,  they  thought, 
when  the  Yellow  House,  so  long  vacant,  was  like 
a  beacon  light  to  the  dull  village;  sending  out  its 
beams  on  every  side. 

"She  ain't  no  kind  of  a  manager,  I  'm  'fraid!" 
said  Bill  Harmon.  "I  give  her  'bout  four  quarts 
and  a  half  of  kerosene  for  a  gallon  every  time  she 
sends  her  can  to  be  filled,  but  bless  you,  she  ain't 
any  the  wiser !  I  try  to  give  her  as  good  measure 
in  everything  as  she  gives  my  children,  but  you 
can't  keep  up  with  her !  She  's  like  the  sun,  that 
shines  on  the  just  'n'  on  the  unjust.  Hen  Lord's 
young  ones  eat  their  lunch  or  their  supper  there 
once  or  twice  a  week,  though  the  old  skinflint 's 
got  fifty  thousand  dollars  in  the  bank.'* 

"Never  mind,  Bill,"  said  Osh  Popham; 
"there's  goin'to  be  an  everlastin'  evenupness 
somewheres!  Probably  God  A 'mighty  hez  his 
eye  on  that  woman,  and  He  '11  see  her  through! 

285 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


The  young  ones  are  growin'  up,  and  the  teacher 
at  the  academy  says  they  beat  the  devil  on  book 
learnin'!  The  boy  '11  make  a  smart  man,  pretty 
soon,  and  bring  good  wages  home  to  his  mother. 
The  girls  are  handsome  enough  to  pick  up  hus- 
bands as  soon  as  they  've  fully  feathered  out,  so 
it  won't  be  long  afore  they  're  all  on  the  up  grade. 
I  've  set  great  store  by  that  family  from  the  out- 
set, and  I  'm  tumble  glad  they  're  goin'  to  fix  up 
the  house  some  more  when  it  comes  spring.  I  'm 
willin'  to  work  cheap  for  such  folks  as  them." 

"You  owe  'em  somethin'  for  listenin'  to  you, 
Osh!  Seems  if  they  moved  here  jest  in  time  to 
hear  your  stories  when  you  'd  'bout  tuckered 
out  the  rest  o'  the  village!" 

"It 's  a  pity  you  didn't  know  a  few  more 
stories  yourself,  Bill,"  retorted  Mr.  Popham; 
"then  you  'd  be  asked  up  oftener  to  put  on  the 
back-log  for  'em,  and  pop  corn  and  roast  apples 
and  pass  the  evenin'.  I  ain't  hed  sech  a  gay  win- 
ter sence  I  begun  settin'  up  with  Maria,  twenty 
years  ago." 

"She  's  kept  you  settin'  up  ever  since,  Osh!" 
chuckled  Bill  Harmon. 

"She  has  so!"  agreed  Osh  cheerfully,  "but 
you  ain't  hardly  the  one  to  twit  me  of  it;  bein* 
as  how  you  've  never  took  a  long  breath  yourself 
sence  you  was  married !  But  you  don't  ketch  me 

286 


Th'  Action  Fine 


coniplainin' !  It 's  a  poor  rule  that  won't  work 
both  ways!  Maria  hurried  me  into  poppin'  the 
question,  and  hurried  me  into  marryin'  her,  an' 
she  ain't  let  up  on  me  a  minute  sence  then;  but 
she  '11  railroad  me  into  heaven  the  same  way,  you 
see  if  she  don't.  She  '11  arrive  'head  o'  time  as 
usual  and  stan'  right  there  at  the  bars  till  she 
gits  Dig  'n'  Lallie  Joy  'n'  me  under  cover!" 

"She  's  a  good  woman,  an'  so  's  my  wife,"  re- 
marked Bill  sententiously;  "an'  Colonel  Wheeler 
says  good  women  are  so  rigged  inside  that  they 
can't  be  agreeable  all  the  time.  The  couple  of 
'em  are  workin'  their  fingers  to  the  bone  for  the 
school  teacher  to-day;  fixin'  him  up  for  all  the 
world  as  if  he  was  a  bride.  He  's  got  the  women 
folks  o'  this  village  kind  o'  mesmerized,  Thurs- 
ton has." 

"He  's  a  first-rate  teacher;  nobody  that  ain't 
hed  experience  in  the  school  room  is  fitted  to 
jedge  jest  how  good  a  teacher  Ralph  Thurston  is, 
but  I  have,  an'  I  know  what  I  'm  talkin'  about." 

"I  never  heard  nothin'  about  your  teachin' 
school,  Osh." 

"There's  a  good  deal  about  me  you  never 
heard;  specially  about  the  time  afore  I  come  to 
Beulah,  'cause  you  "ain't  a  good  hearer,  Bill!  I 
taught  the  most  notorious  school  in  Digby  once, 
and  taught  it  to  a  finish;  I  named  my  boy  Digby 

287 


Mother  Caret's  Chickens 


after  that  school !  You  see  my  father  an'  mother 
was  determined  to  give  me  an  education,  an*  I 
wa'n't  intended  for  it.  I  was  a  great  big,  strong, 
clumsy  lunkhead,  an'  the  only  thing  I  could  do, 
even  in  a  one-horse  college,  was  to  play  base  ball, 
so  they  kep'  me  along  jest  for  that.  I  never  got 
further  than  the  second  class,  an'  I  would  n't  'a' 
got  there  if  the  Faculty  had  n't  'a'  promoted  me 
jest  for  the  looks  o'  the  thing.  Well  Prof.  Mil- 
lard was  off  in  the  country  lecturin'  somewheres 
near  Bangor  an'  he  met  a  school  superintendent 
who  told  him  they  was  awful  hard  up  for  a  teacher 
in  Digby.  He  said  they  'd  hed  three  in  three 
weeks  an'  had  lost  two  stoves  besides;  for  the 
boys  had  fired  out  the  teachers  and  broke  up  the 
stoves  an'  pitched  'em  out  the  door  after  'em. 
When  Prof.  Millard  heard  the  story  he  says, 
'I  've  got  a  young  man  that  could  teach  that 
school;  a  feller  named  Ossian  Popham.'  The 
superintendent  hed  an  interview  with  me,  an'  I 
says :  '  I  '11  agree  to  teach  out  your  nine  weeks  o* 
school  for  a  hundred  dollars,  an'  if  I  leave  afore 
the  last  day  I  won't  claim  a  cent ! '  '  That 's  the 
right  sperit,'  says  the  Supe,  an'  we  struck  a  bar- 
gain then  an'  there.  I  was  glad  it  was  Saturday, 
so  't  I  could  start  right  off  while  my  blood  was 
up.  I  got  to  Digby  on  Sunday  an'  found  a  good 
boardin'  place.  The  trustees  did  n't  examine  me, 

288 


Th'  Action  Fine 


an'  't  was  lucky  for  me  they  did  n't.  The  last 
three  teachers  hed  been  splendid  scholars,  but 
that  did  n't  save  the  stoves  any,  so  they  just 
looked  at  my  six  feet  o'  height,  an'  the  muscle 
in  my  arms,  an'  said  they  'd  drop  in  sometime 
durin'  the  month.  'Look  in  any  time  you  like 
after  the  first  day,'  I  says.  "I  shall  be  tumble 
busy  the  first  day!' « 

"I  went  into  the  school  house  early  Monday 
mornin'  an'  built  a  good  fire  in  the  new  stove. 
When  it  was  safe  to  leave  it  I  went  into  the  next 
house  an'  watched  the  scholars  arrive.  The  lady 
was  a  widder  with  one  great  unruly  boy  in  the 
school,  an'  she  was  glad  to  give  me  a  winder  to 
look  out  of.  It  was  a  tumble  cold  day,  an'  when 
't  was  ten  minutes  to  nine  an'  the  school  room 
was  full  I  walked  in  as  big  as  Cuffy.  There  was 
five  rows  of  big  boys  an'  girls  in  the  back,  all 
lookin'  as  if  they  was  loaded  for  bear,  an'  they 
graded  down  to  little  ones  down  in  front,  all  of 
'em  hitchin'  to  an'  fro  in  their  seats  an'  snicker- 
in'.  I  give  'em  a  surprise  to  begin  with,  for  I 
locked  the  door  when  I  come  in,  an'  put  the  key 
in  my  pocket,  cool  as  a  cucumber. 

"I  never  said  a  word,  an'  they  never  moved 
their  eyes  away  from  me.  I  took  off  my  fur  cap, 
then  my  mittens,  then  my  overcoat,  an'  laid  'em 
in  the  chair  behind  my  desk.  Then  my  under- 

289 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


coat  come  off,  then  my  necktie  an'  collar,  an'  by 
that  time  the  big  girls  begun  to  look  nervous; 
they  'd  been  used  to  addressin',  but  not  un- 
dressin',  in  the  school  room.  Then  I  wound  my 
galluses  round  my  waist  an'  tied  'em;  then  I  says, 
clear  an'  loud : '  I  'm  your  new  teacher !  I  'm  goin' 
to  have  a  hundred  dollars  for  teachin'  out  this 
school,  an'  I  intend  to  teach  it  out  an'  git  my 
money.  It 's  five  minutes  to  nine.  I  give  you 
just  that  long  to  tell  me  what  you  're  goin'  to  do 
about  it.  Come  on  now!'  I  says,  'all  o'  you  big 
boys,  if  you  're  comin',  an'  we  '11  settle  this  thing 
here  an'  now.  We  can't  hev  fights  an'  lessons 
mixed  up  together  every  day,  more  'n  's  nec- 
essary; better  decide  right  now  who  's  boss  o* 
this  school.  The  stove 's  new  an'  I  'm  new,  an' 
we  call'ate  to  stay  here  till  the  end  o'  the  term!' 
"Well,  sir,  not  one  o'  that  gang  stirred  in  their 
seats,  an'  not  one  of  'em  yipped !  I  taught  school 
in  my  shirt  sleeves  consid'able  the  first  week,  but 
I  never  hed  to  afterwards.  I  was  a  little  mite 
weak  on  mathematics,  an'  the  older  boys  an' 
girls  hed  to  depend  on  their  study  books  for  their 
information,  —  they  never  got  any  from  me,  — 
but  every  scholar  in  that  Digby  school  got  a 
hundred  per  cent  in  deportment  the  nine  weeks 
I  taught  there!" 


XXX 

THE  INGLENOOK 

It  was  a  wild  Friday  night  in  March,  after 
days  of  blustering  storms  and  drifting  snow. 
Beulah  was  clad  in  royal  ermine;  not  only  clad, 
indeed,  but  nearly  buried  in  it.  The  timbers  of 
the  Yellow  House  creaked,  and  the  wreaths  of 
snow  blew  against  the  windows  and  lodged  there. 
King  Frost  was  abroad,  nipping  toes  and  ears, 
hanging  icicles  on  the  eaves  of  houses,  and  de- 
corating the  forest  trees  with  glittering  pen- 
dants. The  wind  howled  in  the  sitting  room 
chimney,  but  in  front  of  the  great  back-log  the 
bed  of  live  coals  glowed  red  and  the  flames  danced 
high,  casting  flickering  shadows  on  the  children's 
faces.  It  is  possible  to  bring  up  a  family  by 
steam  heat,  and  it  is  often  necessary,  but  nobody 
can  claim  that  it  is  either  so  simple  or  so  delight- 
ful as  by  an  open  fire! 

The  three  cats  were  all  nestled  cosily  in  Nancy's 
lap  or  snuggled  by  her  side.  Mother  Carey  had 
demurred  at  two,  and  when  Nancy  appeared  one 
day  after  school  with  a  third,  she  spoke,  with 
some  firmness,  of  refusing  it  a  home. 

291 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"If  we  must  economize  on  cats,"  cried  Nancy 
passionately,  "  don't  let 's  begin  on  this  one !  She 
does  n't  look  it,  but  she  is  a  heroine.  When 
the  Hideout's  house  burned  down,  her  kittens 
were  in  a  basket  by  the  kitchen  stove.  Three 
times  she  ran  in  through  the  flames  and  brought 
out  a  kitten  in  her  mouth.  The  tip  of  her  tail  is 
gone,  and  part  of  an  ear,  and  she  's  blind  in  one 
eye.  Mr.  Harmon  says  she  's  too  homely  to  live; 
now  what  do  you  think?" 

"I  think  nobody  pretending  to  be  a  mother 
could  turn  her  back  on  another  mother  like  that," 
said  Mrs.  Carey  promptly.  "We  '11  take  a  pint 
more  milk,  and  I  think  you  children  will  have  to 
leave  something  in  your  plates  now  and  then; 
you  polish  them  until  it  really  is  indecent." 

To-night  an  impromptu  meeting  of  the  Ways 
and  Means  Committee  was  taking  place  by  the 
sitting  room  fire,  perhaps  because  the  family 
plates  had  been  polished  to  a  terrifying  degree 
that  week. 

"Children,"  said  Mother  Carey,  "we  have 
been  as  economical  as  we  knew  how  to  be;  we 
have  worked  to  the  limit  of  our  strength;  we 
have  spent  almost  nothing  on  clothing,  but  the 
fact  remains  that  we  have  scarcely  money  enough 
in  our  reserve  fund  to  last  another  six  months. 
What  shall  we  do?" 

292 


The  Inglenook 


Nancy  leaped  to  her  feet,  scattering  cats  in 
every  direction. 

"Mother  Carey!"  she  exclaimed  remorsefully. 
f  You  have  n't  mentioned  money  since  New 
Year's,  and  I  thought  we  were  rubbing  along  as 
usual.  The  bills  are  all  paid;  what 's  the  matter?  " 

"That  is  the  matter!"  answered  Mrs.  Carey 
with  the  suspicion  of  a  tear  in  her  laughing  voice. 
"The  bills  are  paid,  and  there  's  too  little  left! 
We  eat  so  much,  and  we  burn  so  much  wood,  and 
so  many  gallons  of  oil!" 

"The  back  of  the  winter  's  broken,  mother 
dear!"  said  Gilbert,  as  a  terrific  blast  shook  the 
blinds  as  a  terrier  would  a  rat.  "Don't  listen  to 
that  wind;  it 's  only  a  March  bluff!  Osh  Pop- 
ham  says  snow  is  the  poor  man's  manure;  he 
says  it 's  going  to  be  an  early  season  and  a  grand 
hay  crop.  We  '11  get  fifty  dollars  for  our 
field." 

"That  will  be  in  July,  and  this  is  March,"  said 
his  mother.  "Still,  the  small  reversible  Van 
Twiller  will  carry  us  through  May,  with  our 
other  income.  But  the  saving  days  are  over,  and 
the  earning  days  have  come,  dears!  I  am  the 
oldest  and  the  biggest,  I  must  begin." 

"Never!"  cried  Nancy.  "You  slave  enough 
for  us,  as  it  is,  but  you  shall  never  slave  for  any- 
body else;  shall  she,  Gilly?" 

293 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Not  if  I  know  it!"  answered  Gilbert  with 
good  ringing  emphasis. 

"Another  winter  I  fear  we  must  close  the  Yel- 
low House  and  —  " 

The  rest  of  Mother  Carey's  remark  was  never 
heard,  for  at  Nancy's  given  signal  the  four 
younger  Careys  all  swooned  on  the  floor.  Nancy 
had  secretly  trained  Peter  so  that  he  was  the  best 
swooner  of  the  family,  and  his  comical  imitation 
of  Nancy  was  so  mirth-compelling  that  Mother 
Carey  laughed  and  declared  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  talking  seriously  to  children  like  hers. 

"But,  Muddy  dear,  you  were  n't  in  earnest?" 
coaxed  Nancy,  bending  her  bright  head  over  her 
mother's  shoulder  and  cuddling  up  to  her  side; 
whereupon  Gilbert  gave  his  imitation  of  a  jeal- 
ous puppy;  barking,  snarling,  and  pushing  his 
frowzly  pate  under  his  mother's  arm  to  crowd 
Nancy  from  her  point  of  vantage,  to  which  she 
clung  valiantly.  Of  course  Kitty  found  a  small 
vacant  space  on  which  she  could  festoon  herself, 
and  Peter  promptly  climbed  on  his  mother's  lap, 
so  that  she  was  covered  with  —  fairly  submerged 
in  —  children !  A  year  ago  Julia  used  to  creep 
away  and  look  at  such  exhibitions  of  family  affec- 
tion, with  a  curling  lip,  but  to-night,  at  Mother 
Carey's  outstretched  hand  and  smothered  cry  of 
"Help,  Judy!"  she  felt  herself  gathered  into  the 

294 


The  Inglenook 


heart  of  the  laughing,  boisterous  group.  That 
hand,  had  she  but  known  it,  was  stretched  out 
to  her  because  only  that  day  a  letter  had  come, 
saying  that  Allan  Carey  was  much  worse  and 
that  his  mental  condition  admitted  of  no  cure.  He 
was  bright  and  hopeful  and  happy,  so  said  Mr. 
Manson ;  —  forever  sounding  the  praises  of  the 
labor-saving  device  in  which  he  had  sunk  his  last 
thousands.  "  We  can  manufacture  it  at  ten  cents 
and  sell  it  for  ten  dollars,"  he  would  say,  rubbing 
his  hands  excitedly.  "We  can  pay  fifty  dollars 
a  month  office  rent  and  do  a  business  of  fifty 
thousand  dollars  a  year!"  "And  I  almost  be- 
lieve we  could!"  added  Mr.  Manson,  "if  we  had 
faith  enough  and  capital  enough!" 

"  Of  course  you  know,  darlings,  I  would  never 
leave  Beulah  save  for  the  coldest  months;  or  only 
to  earn  a  little  money,"  said  Mrs.  Carey,  smooth- 
ing her  dress,  flattening  her  collar,  and  pinning 
up  the  braids  that  Nancy's  hugs  had  loosened. 

"I  must  put  my  mind  on  the  problem  at  once," 
said  Nancy,  pacing  the  floor.  "I  've  been  so  in- 
terested in  my  Virgil,  so  wrapped  up  in  my  rhe- 
toric and  composition,  that  I  have  n't  thought 
of  ways  and  means  for  a  month,  but  of  course  we 
will  never  leave  the  Yellow  House,  and  of  course 
we  must  contrive  to  earn  money  enough  to  live 
in  it.  We  must  think  about  it  every  spare  min- 

295 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ute  till  vacation  comes;  then  we  '11  have  nearly 
four  months  to  amass  a  fortune  big  enough  to 
carry  us  through  the  next  year.  I  have  an  idea 
for  myself  already.  I  was  going  to  wait  till  my 
seventeenth  birthday,  but  that 's  four  months 
away  and  it 's  too  long.  I  'm  old  enough  to  be- 
gin any  time.  I  feel  old  enough  to  write  my 
Reminiscences  this  minute." 

"You  might  publish  your  letters  to  the  Ameri- 
can Consul  in  Breslau;  they  'd  make  a  book!" 
teased  Gilbert. 

"Very  likely  I  shall,  silly  Gilly,"  retorted 
Nancy,  swinging  her  mane  haughtily.  "It  is  n't 
every  girl  who  has  a  monthly  letter  from  an  Ad- 
miral in  China  and  a  Consul  in  Germany." 

"You  would  n't  catch  me  answering  the  Queen 
of  Sheba's  letters  or  the  Empress  of  India's,"  ex- 
claimed Gilbert,  whose  pen  was  emphatically 
less  mighty  than  his  sword.  "Hullo,  you  two! 
what  are  you  whispering  about?"  he  called  to 
Kathleen  and  Julia,  who  were  huddled  together 
in  a  far  corner  of  the  long  room,  gesticulating 
eloquently. 

"We've  an  idea!  We've  an  idea!  We've 
found  a  way  to  help ! "  sang  the  two  girls,  pirouet- 
ting back  into  the  circle  of  firelight.  "  We  won't 
tell  till  it 's  all  started,  but  it 's  perfectly  splen- 
did, and  practical  too." 

296 


The  Inglenook 


"And  so  ladylike!"  added  Julia  triumphantly. 

"How  much?"  asked  Gilbert  succinctly. 

The  girls  whispered  a  minute  or  two,  and  ap- 
peared to  be  multiplying  twenty-five  first  by  fif- 
teen, and  then  again  by  twenty. 

"From  three  dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  to 
four  dollars  and  a  half  a  week  according  to  cir- 
cumstances!" answered  Kathleen  proudly. 

"Will  it  take  both  of  you?" 

"Yes." 

"All  your  time?" 

More  nods  and  whispers  and  calculation. 

"No,  indeed;  only  three  hours  a  day." 

"Any  of  my  time?" 

"Just  a  little." 

"  I  thought  so! "  said  Gilbert  loftily.  "  You  al- 
ways want  me  and  my  hammer  or  my  saw;  but 
I  '11  be  busy  on  my  own  account;  you  '11  have  to 
paddle  your  own  canoe!" 

"You  '11  be  paid  for  what  you  do  for  us,"  said 
Julia  slyly,  giving  Kathleen  a  poke,  at  which 
they  both  fell  into  laughter  only  possible  to  the 
very  young. 

Then  suddenly  there  came  a  knock  at  the  front 
door;  a  stamping  of  feet  on  the  circular  steps,  and 
a  noise  of  shaking  off  snow. 

"Go  to  the  door,  Gilbert;  who  can  that 
be  on  a  night  like  this,  —  although  it  is  only 

297 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


eight  o'clock  after  all!   Why,  it's  Mr.  Thurs- 
ton!" 

Ralph  Thurston  came  in  blushing  and  smiling, 
glad  to  be  welcomed,  fearful  of  intruding,  afraid 
of  showing  how  much  he  liked  to  be  there. 

"Good-evening,  all!"  he  said.  "You  see  I 
couldn't  wait  to  thank  you,  Mrs.  Carey!  No 
storm  could  keep  me  away  to-night." 

"What  has  mother  been  doing,  now?"  asked 
Nancy.  "Her  right  hand  is  forever  busy,  and 
she  never  tells  her  left  hand  a  thing,  so  we  chil- 
dren are  always  in  the  dark." 

"It  was  nothing  much,"  said  Mrs.  Carey, 
pushing  the  young  man  gently  into  the  high- 
backed  rocker.  "Mrs.  Harmon,  Mrs.  Popham, 
and  I  simply  tried  to  show  our  gratitude  to  Mr. 
Thurston  for  teaching  our  troublesome  children." 

"How  did  you  know  it  was  my  birthday?" 
asked  Thurston. 

"Did  n't  you  write  the  date  in  Lallie  Joy's 
book?" 

"True,  I  did;  and  forgot  it  long  ago;  but  I 
have  never  had  my  birthday  noticed  before,  and 
I  am  twenty-four!" 

"It  was  high  time,  then!"  said  Mother  Carey 
with  her  bright  smile. 

"But  what  did  mother  do?"  clamored  Nancy, 
Kathleen  and  Gilbert  in  chorus. 

298 


The  Inglenook 


"  She  took  my  forlorn,  cheerless  room  and  made 
it  into  a  home  for  me/'  said  Thurston.  "Per- 
haps she  wanted  me  to  stay  in  it  a  little  more, 
and  bother  her  less !  At  any  rate  she  has  created 
an  almost  possible  rival  to  the  Yellow  House!" 

Ralph  Thurston  had  a  large,  rather  dreary 
room  over  Bill  Harmon's  store,  and  took  his  meals 
at  the  Widow  Berry's,  near  by.  He  was  an  or- 
phan and  had  no  money  to  spend  on  luxuries,  be- 
cause all  his  earnings  went  to  pay  the  inevitable 
debts  incurred  when  a  fellow  is  working  his  way 
through  college. 

Mrs.  Carey,  with  the  help  of  the  other  two 
women,  had  seized  upon  this  stormy  Friday, 
when  the  teacher  always  took  his  luncheon  with 
him  to  the  academy,  to  convert  Ralph's  room  into 
something  comfortable  and  cheerful.  The  old, 
cracked,  air-tight  stove  had  been  removed,  and 
Bill  Harmon  had  contributed  a  second-hand 
Franklin,  left  with  him  for  a  bad  debt.  It  was  of 
soapstone  and  had  sliding  doors  in  front,  so  that 
the  blaze  could  be  disclosed  when  life  was  very  dull 
or  discouraging.  The  straw  matting  on  the  floor 
had  done  very  well  in  the  autumn,  but  Mrs.  Carey 
now  covered  the  centre  of  the  room  with  a  bright 
red  drugget  left  from  the  Charlestown  house- 
furnishings,  and  hung  the  two  windows  with  cur- 
tains of  printed  muslin.   Ossian  Popham  had 

299 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


taken  a  clotheshorse  and  covered  it  with  red 
felting,  so  that  the  screen  so  evolved  could  be 
made  to  hide  the  bed  and  washstand.  Ralph's 
small,  rickety  table  had  been  changed  for  a  big, 
roomy  one  of  pine,  hidden  by  the  half  of  an  old 
crimson  piano  cloth.  When  Osh  had  seen  the 
effect  of  this  he  hurried  back  to  his  barn  chamber 
and  returned  with  some  book  shelves  that  he  had 
hastily  glued  and  riveted  into  shape.  These  he 
nailed  to  the  wall  and  filled  with  books  that  he 
found  in  the  closet,  on  the  floor,  on  the  foot  of 
the  bed,  and  standing  on  the  long,  old-fashioned 
mantel  shelf. 

"Do  you  care  partic'larly  where  you  set, 
nights,  Ossian?"  inquired  Mrs.  Popham,  who 
was  now  in  a  state  of  uncontrolled  energy  bor- 
dering on  delirium.  "Because  your  rockin'chair 
has  a  Turkey  red  cushion  and  it  would  look  splen- 
did in  Mr.  Thurston's  room.  You  know  you  fid- 
dle 'bout  half  the  time  evenin's,  and  you  always 
go  to  bed  early." 

"Don't  mind  me!"  exclaimed  Ossian  face- 
tiously, starting  immediately  for  the  required 
chair  and  bringing  back  with  it  two  huge  yellow 
sea  shells,  which  he  deposited  on  the  floor  at  each 
end  of  the  hearth  rug. 

"How  do  you  like  'em?"  he  inquired  of  Mrs. 
Carey. 

300 


The  Inglenook 


"Not  at  all,"  she  replied  promptly. 

"  You  don't?  "  he  asked  incredulously.  "  Well, 
it  takes  all  kinds  o'  folks  to  make  a  world !  I  've 
been  keepin'  'em  fifteen  years,  hopin'  I'd  get 
enough  more  to  make  a  border  for  our  parlor  fire- 
place, and  now  you  don't  take  to  'em !  Back  they 
go  to  the  barn  chamber,  Maria;  Mis'  Carey's 
bossin'  this  job,  and  she  ain't  got  no  taste  for  sea 
shells.  Would  you  like  an  old  student  lamp?  I 
found  one  that  I  can  bronze  up  in  about  two 
minutes  if  Mis'  Harmon  can  hook  a  shade  and 
chimbly  out  of  Bill's  stock." 

They  all  stayed  in  the  room  until  this  last  feat 
was  accomplished;  stayed  indeed  until  the  fire 
in  the  open  stove  had  died  down  to  ruddy  coals. 
Then  they  pulled  down  the  shades,  lighted  the 
lamp,  gave  one  last  admiring  look,  and  went 
home. 

It  had  meant  only  a  few  hours'  thought  and 
labor,  with  scarcely  a  penny  of  expense,  but  you 
can  judge  what  Ralph  Thurston  felt  when  he  en- 
tered the  door  out  of  the  storm  outside.  To  him 
it  looked  like  a  room  conjured  up  by  some  magi- 
cian in  a  fairy  tale.  He  fell  into  the  rocking- 
chair  and  looked  at  his  own  fire;  gazed  about  at 
the  cheerful  crimson  glow  that  radiated  from  the 
dazzling  drugget,  in  a  state  of  puzzled  ecstasy, 
till  he  caught  sight  of  a  card  lying  near  the  lamp, 

301 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


—  "A  birthday  present  from  three  mothers  who 
value  your  work  for  their  boys  and  girls." 

He  knew  Mrs.  Carey's  handwriting,  so  he  sped 
to  the  Yellow  House  as  soon  as  his  supper  was 
over,  and  now,  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  fam- 
ily, he  felt  tongue-tied  and  wholly  unable  to  ex- 
press his  gratitude. 

It  was  bed  time,  and  the  young  people  melted 
away  from  the  fireside. 

"Kiss  your  mother  good-night,  sweet  Pete," 
said  Nancy,  taking  the  reluctant  cherub  by  the 
hand.  "'Hoc  opus,  hie  labor  est'  Mr.  Thurston, 
to  get  the  Peter-bird  upstairs  when  once  he  is 
down.  Shake  hands  with  your  future  teacher, 
Peter;  no,  you  must  n't  kiss  him;  little  boys  don't 
kiss  great  Latin  scholars  unless  they  are  asked." 

Thurston  laughed  and  lifted  the  gurgling  Peter 
high  in  the  air.  "  Good  night,  old  chap ! "  he  said. 
"Hurry  up  and  come  to  school!" 

"I  'm  'bout  ready  now!"  piped  Peter.   "I  can 
read   '  Up  -  up  -  my  -  boy  -  day  -  is  -  not  -the  -  time  - 
for  -  sleep  -  the  -  dew  -  will  -  soon  -  be  -  gone '  with 
the  book  upside  down,  —  can't  I,  Muddy?" 
.  "You  can,  my  son;  trot  along  with  sister." 

Thurston  opened  the  door  for  Nancy,  and  his 
eye  followed  her  for  a  second  as  she  mounted  the 
stairs.  She  glowed  like  a  ruby  to-night  in  her  old 
red  cashmere.   The  sparkle  of  her  eye,  the  gloss 

302 


The  Inglenook 


of  her  hair,  the  soft  red  of  her  lips,  the  curve  and 
bend  of  her  graceful  young  body  struck  even  her 
mother  anew,  though  she  was  used  to  her  daugh- 
ter's beauty.  "She  is  growing  !"  thought  Mrs. 
Carey  wistfully.  "I  see  it  all  at  once,  and  soon 
others  will  be  seeing  it!" 

Alas!  young  Ralph  Thurston  had  seen  it  for 
weeks  past!  He  was  not  perhaps  so  much  in  love 
with  Nancy  the  girl,  as  he  was  with  Nancy  the 
potential  woman.  Some  of  the  glamour  that  sur- 
rounded the  mother  had  fallen  upon  the  daughter. 
One  felt  the  influences  that  had  rained  upon 
Nancy  ever  since  she  had  come  into  the  world. 
One  could  not  look  at  her,  nor  talk  with  her, 
without  feeling  that  her  mother  —  like  a  vine  in 
the  blood,  as  the  old  proverb  says  —  was  breath- 
ing, growing,  budding,  blossoming  in  her  day  by 
day. 

The  young  teacher  came  back  to  the  fireplace, 
where  Mother  Carey  was  standing  in  a  momen- 
tary brown  study. 

"I  've  never  had  you  alone  before,"  he  stam- 
mered, "and  now  is  my  chance  to  tell  you  what 
you  've  been  to  me  ever  since  I  came  to  Beulah." 

"You  have  helped  me  in  my  problems  more 
than  I  can  possibly  have  aided  you,"  Mrs.  Carey 
replied  quietly.  "  Gilbert  was  so  rebellious  about 
country  schools,  so  patronizing,  so  scornful  of 

303 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


their  merits,  that  I  fully  expected  he  would  never 
stay  at  the  academy  of  his  own  free  will.  You 
have  converted  him,  and  I  am  very  grateful." 

"Meantime  I  am  making  a  record  there," said 
Ralph,  "and  I  have  this  family  to  thank  for  it! 
Your  children,  with  Olive  and  Cyril  Lord,  have 
set  the  pace  for  the  school,  and  the  rest  are  fol- 
lowing to  the  best  of  their  ability.  There  is  not 
a  shirk  nor  a  dunce  in  the  whole  roll  of  sixty  pu- 
pils !  Beulah  has  not  been  so  proud  of  its  academy 
for  thirty  years,  and  I  shall  come  in  for  the  chief 
share  in  the  praise.  I  am  trying  to  do  for  Gilbert 
and  Cyril  what  an  elder  brother  would  do,  but  I 
should  have  been  powerless  if  I  had  not  had  this 
home  and  this  fireside  to  inspire  me ! " 

"  Tibi  splendet  focus ! "  quoted  Mrs.  Carey, 
pointing  to  Olive's  inscription  under  the  mantel- 
piece.  "For  you  the  hearth  fire  glows!" 

"Have  I  not  felt  it  from  the  beginning?" 
asked  Ralph.  "I  never  knew  my  mother,  Mrs. 
Carey,  and  few  women  have  come  into  my  life; 
I  have  been  too  poor  and  too  busy  to  cultivate 
their  friendship.  Then  I  came  to  Beulah  and 
you  drew  me  into  your  circle;  admitted  an  un- 
known, friendless  fellow  into  your  little  group! 
It  was  beautiful;  it  was  wonderful!" 

"What  are  mothers  for,  but  to  do  just  that, 
and  more  than  all,  for  the  motherless  boys?" 

304 


The  Inglenook 


"Well,  I  may  never  again  have  the  courage  to 
say  it,  so  just  believe  me  when  I  say  your  influ- 
ence will  be  the  turning-point  in  my  life.  I  will 
never,  so  help  me  God,  do  anything  to  make  me 
unworthy  to  sit  in  this  fireglow!  So  long  as  I 
have  brains  and  hands  to  work  with,  I  will  keep 
striving  to  create  another  home  like  this  when 
my  time  comes.  Any  girl  that  takes  me  will  get 
a  better  husband  because  of  you;  any  children  I 
may  be  blessed  with  will  have  a  better  father  be- 
cause I  have  known  you.  Don't  make  any  mis- 
take, dear  Mrs.  Carey,  your  hearth  fire  glows  a 
long,  long  distance!" 

Mother  Carey  was  moved  to  the  very  heart. 
She  leaned  forward  and  took  Ralph  Thurston's 
young  face,  thin  with  privation  and  study,  in 
her  two  hands.  He  bent  his  head  instinctively, 
partly  to  hide  the  tears  that  had  sprung  to  his 
eyes,  and  she  kissed  his  forehead  simply  and  ten- 
derly. He  was  at  her  knees  on  the  hearth  rug  in 
an  instant;  all  his  boyish  affection  laid  at  her 
feet;  all  his  youthful  chivalry  kindled  at  the 
honor  of  her  touch. 

And  there  are  women  in  the  world  who  do  not 
care  about  being  mothers! 


XXXI 

GROOVES  OP  CHANGE 

The  winter  passed.  The  snow  gradually  melted 
in  the  meadows  and  the  fields,  which  first  grew 
brown  and  then  displayed  patches  of  green  here 
and  there  where  the  sun  fell  strongest.  There 
was  deep,  sticky  mud  in  the  roads,  and  the  dis- 
couraged farmers  urged  their  horses  along  with 
the  wheels  of  their  wagons  sunk  to  the  hub  in 
ooze.  Then  there  were  wet  days,  the  wind  ruf- 
fling the  leaden  surface  of  the  river,  the  sound  of 
the  rain  dripping  from  the  bare  tree-boughs,  the 
smell  of  the  wet  grass  and  the  clean,  thirsty  soil. 
Milder  weather  came,  then  blustery  days,  then 
chill  damp  ones,  but  steadily  life  grew,  here, 
there,  everywhere,  and  the  ever-new  miracle  of 
the  awakening  earth  took  place  once  again.  Sap 
mounted  in  the  trees,  blood  coursed  in  the  chil- 
dren's veins,  mothers  began  giving  herb  tea  and 
sulphur  and  molasses,  young  human  nature  was 
restless;  the  whole  creation  throbbed  and  sighed, 
and  was  tremulous,  and  had  growing  pains. 

April  passed,  with  aJl  its  varying  moods  of  sun 
and  shower,  and  settled  weather  came. 

306 


MOTHER  CAREY  WAS  MOVED  TO  THE  VERY  HEART 


Grooves  of  Change 


All  tke  earth  was  gay. 

Land  and  sea 
Gave  themselves  up  to  jollity 

And  with  the  heart  of  May 
Did  every  Beast  keep  holiday. 

The  Carey  girls  had  never  heard  of  "the  joy 
of  living"  as  a  phrase,  but  oh!  they  knew  a  deal 
about  it  in  these  first  two  heavenly  springs  in 
little  Beulah  village!  The  sunrise  was  so  won- 
derful; the  trees  and  grass  so  marvellously 
green;  the  wild  flowers  so  beautiful!  Then  the 
river  on  clear  days,  the  glimpse  of  the  sea  from 
Beulah's  hill  tops,  the  walks  in  the  pine  woods, 
—  could  Paradise  show  anything  to  compare? 

And  how  good  the  food  tasted;  and  the  books 
they  read,  how  fresh,  how  moving,  how  glorious ! 
Then  when  the  happy  day  was  over,  sleep  came 
without  pause  or  effort  the  moment  the  flushed 
cheek  touched  the  cool  pillow. 

"These,"  Nancy  reflected,  quoting  from  her 
favorite  Wordsworth  as  she  dressed  beside  her 
open  window,  "These  must  be 

The  gifts  of  morn, 
Ere  life  grows  noisy  and  slower-footed  thought 
Can  overtake  the  rapture  of  the  sense. 

I  was  fifteen  and  a  half  last  spring,  and  now, 
though  it  is  only  a  year  ago,  everything  is  differ- 
ent!" she  mused.   "When  did  it  get  to  be  differ- 

307 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


ent,  I  wonder?  It  never  was  all  at  once,  so  it 
must  have  been  a  little  every  day,  so  little  that 
I  hardly  noticed  it  until  just  now." 

A  young  girl's  heart  is  ever  yearning  for  and 
trembling  at  the  future.  In  its  innocent  depths 
the  things  that  are  to  be  are  sometimes  rustling 
and  whispering  secrets,  and  sometimes  keeping 
an  exquisite,  haunting  silence.  In  the  midst  of  the 
mystery  the  solemn  young  creature  is  sighing  to 
herself,  "What  am  I  meant  for?  Am  I  every- 
thing? Am  I  nothing?  Must  I  wait  till  my  future 
comes  to  me,  or  must  I  seek  it?" 

This  was  all  like  the  sound  of  a  still,  small 
voice  in  Nancy's  mind,  but  it  meant  that  she 
was  "growing  up,"  taking  hold  on  life  at  more 
points  than  before,  seeing  new  visions,  dreaming 
new  dreams.  Kathleen  and  Julia  seemed  ridicu- 
lously young  to  her.  She  longed  to  advise  them, 
but  her  sense  of  humor  luckily  kept  her  silent. 
Gilbert  appeared  crude,  raw;  promising,  but 
undeveloped;  she  hated  to  think  how  much 
experience  he  would  have  to  pass  through  before 
he  could  see  existence  as  it  really  was,  and  as 
she  herself  saw  it.  Olive's  older  view  of  things, 
her  sad,  strange  outlook  upon  life,  her  dislike 
of  anything  in  the  shape  of  man,  her  melancholy 
aversion  to  her  father,  all  this  fascinated  and 
puzzled   Nancy,  whose  impetuous  nature  ran 

308 


Grooves  op  Change 


out  to  every  living  thing,  revelling  in  the  very- 
act  of  loving,  so  long  as  she  did  not  meet  rebuff. 

Cyril  perplexed  her.  Silent,  unresponsive, 
shy,  she  would  sometimes  raise  her  eyes  from 
her  book  in  school  and  find  him  gazing  steadily 
at  her  like  a  timid  deer  drinking  thirstily  at  a 
spring.  Nancy  did  not  like  Cyril,  but  she  pitied 
him  and  was  as  friendly  with  him,  in  her  off- 
hand, boyish  fashion,  as  she  was  with  every 
one. 

The  last  days  of  the  academy  term  were  close 
at  hand,  and  the  air  was  full  of  graduation 
exercises  and  white  muslin  and  ribbon  sashes. 
June  brought  two  surprises  to  the  Yellow  House. 
One  morning  Kathleen  burst  into  Nancy's  room 
with  the  news:  "Nancy!  The  Fergusons  offer  to 
adopt  Judy,  and  she  does  n't  want  to  go.  Think 
of  that!  But  she's  afraid  to  ask  mother  if  she 
can  stay.   Let's  us  do  it;  shall  we?" 

"I  will;  but  of  course  there  is  not  enough 
money  to  go  around,  Kitty,  even  if  we  all  suc- 
ceed in  our  vacation  plans.  Julia  will  never 
have  any  pretty  dresses  if  she  stays  with  us, 
and  she  loves  pretty  dresses.  Why  did  n't  the 
Fergusons  adopt  her  before  mother  had  made 
her  over?" 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  Kathleen.  "Then  every- 
body would  have  been  glad,  but  now  we  shall 

309 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


miss  her!  Think  of  missing  Judy!  We  would 
never  have  believed  it!" 

"It's  like  seeing  how  a  book  turns  out,  to 
watch  her  priggishness  and  smuggishness  all 
melting  away,"  Nancy  said.  "I  shouldn't  like 
to  see  her  slip  back  into  the  old  Judyisms,  and 
neither  would  mother.  Mother  '11  probably  keep 
her,  for  I  know  Mr.  Manson  thinks  it's  only  a 
matter  of  a  few  months  before  Uncle  Allan  dies." 

"And  mother  would  n't  want  a  Carey  to  grow 
up  into  an  imitation  Gladys  Ferguson;  but  that's 
what  Judy  would  be,  in  course  of  time." 

Julia  took  Mrs.  Ferguson's  letter  herself  to 
her  Aunt  Margaret,  showing  many  signs  of 
perturbation  in  her  usually  tranquil  face. 

Mrs.  Carey  read  it  through  carefully.  "It  is 
a  very  kind,  generous  offer,  Julia.  Your  father 
cannot  be  consulted  about  it,  so  you  must  de- 
cide. You  would  have  every  luxury,  and  your 
life  would  be  full  of  change  and  pleasure;  while 
with  us  it  must  be,  in  the  nature  of  things,  busy 
and  frugal  for  a  long  time  to  come." 

"But  I  am  one  more  to  feed  and  clothe,  Aunt 
Margaret,  and  there  is  so  little  money!" 

"I  know,  but  you  are  one  more  to  help,  after 
all.  The  days  are  soon  coming  when  Nancy  and 
Gilbert  will  be  out  in  the  world,  helping  them- 
selves. You  and  Kathleen  could  stay  with  Peter 

310 


Grooves  of  Change 


and  me,  awaiting  your  turn.  It  does  n't  look 
attractive  in  comparison  with  what  the  Fergu- 
sons offer  you!" 

Then  the  gentle  little  rivers  that  had  been 
swelling  all  the  past  year  in  Julia's  heart,  rivers 
of  tenderness  and  gratitude  and  sympathy, 
suddenly  overflowed  their  banks  and,  running 
hither  and  thither,  softened  everything  with 
which  they  came  in  contact.  Rocky  places 
melted,  barren  spots  waked  into  life,  and  under 
the  impulse  of  a  new  mood  that  she  scarcely 
understood  Julia  cried,  "Oh!  dear  Aunt  Mar- 
garet, keep  me,  keep  me!  This  is  home;  I  never 
want  to  leave  it!  I  want  to  be  one  of  Mother 
Carey's  chickens!" 

The  child  had  flung  herself  into  the  arms  that 
never  failed  anybody,  and  with  tears  streaming 
down  her  cheeks  made  her  plea. 

"There,  there,  Judy  dear;  you  are  one  of  us, 
and  we  could  not  let  you  go  unless  you  were  to 
gain  something  by  it.  If  you  really  want  to 
stay  we  shall  love  you  all  the  better,  and  you 
will  belong  to  us  more  than  you  ever  did;  so 
dry  your  eyes,  or  you  will  be  somebody's  duck- 
ling instead  of  my  chicken ! " 

The  next  surprise  was  a  visit  from  Cousin 
Ann  Chadwick,  who  drove  up  to  the  door  one 
morning    quite    unannounced,    and    asked    the 

311 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


driver  of  the  depot  wagon  to  bring  over  her  two 
trunks  immediately. 

"Two  trunks!"  groaned  Gilbert.  "That 
means  the  whole  season ! " 

But  it  meant  nothing  of  the  kind;  it  meant 
pretty  white  dresses  for  the  three  girls,  two  pairs 
of  stockings  and  two  of  gloves  for  the  whole 
family,  a  pattern  of  black  silk  for  Mrs.  Carey, 
and  numberless  small  things  to  which  the  Carey 
wardrobe  had  long  been  a  stranger. 

Having  bestowed  these  offerings  rather  grimly, 
as  was  her  wont,  and  having  received  the  family's 
grateful  acknowledgments  with  her  usual  lack 
of  grace,  she  proceeded  in  the  course  of  a  few 
days  to  make  herself  far  more  disagreeable  than 
had  been  the  case  on  any  previous  visit  of  her 
life.  She  had  never  seen  such  dusty  roads  as  in 
Beulah;  so  many  mosquitoes  and  flies;  such 
tough  meat;  such  a  lack  of  fruit,  such  talkative, 
over-familiar  neighbors,  such  a  dull  minister, 
such  an  inattentive  doctor,  such  extortionate 
tradesmen. 

"What  shall  we  do  with  Cousin  Ann!"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Carey  to  Nancy  in  despair.  "She 
makes  us  these  generous  presents,  yet  she  cannot 
possibly  have  any  affection  for  us.  We  accept 
them  without  any  affection  for  her,  because  we 
hardly  know  how  to  avoid  it.   The  whole  situa- 

312 


Grooves  op  Change 


tion  is  positively  degrading!  I  have  borne  it  for 
years  because  she  was  good  to  your  father  when 
he  was  a  boy,  but  now  that  she  has  grown  so 
much  more  difficult  I  really  think  I  must  talk 
openly  with  her." 

"She  talked  openly  enough  with  me  when  I 
confessed  that  Gilbert  and  I  had  dropped  and 
broken  the  Dirty  Boy!"  said  Nancy,  "and  she 
has  been  very  cross  with  me  ever  since." 

"Cousin  Ann,"  said  Mrs.  Carey  that  after- 
noon on  the  piazza,  "it  is  very  easy  to  see  that 
you  do  not  approve  of  the  way  we  live,  or  the 
way  we  think  about  things  in  general.  Feeling 
as  you  do,  I  really  wish  you  would  not  spend 
your  money  on  us,  and  give  us  these  beautiful 
and  expensive  presents.  It  puts  me  under  an 
obligation  that  chafes  me  and  makes  me  un- 
happy." 

"I  don't  disapprove  of  you,  particularly," 
said  Miss  Chadwick.   "Do  I  act  as  if  I  did?" 

"Your  manner  seems  to  suggest  it." 

"You  can't  tell  much  by  manners,"  replied 
Cousin  Ann.  "I  think  you're  entirely  too  soft 
and  sentimental,  but  we  all  have  our  faults. 
I  don't  think  you  have  any  right  to  feed  the 
neighbors  and  burn  up  fuel  and  oil  in  their  behalf 
when  you  have  n't  got  enough  for  your  own 
family.   I  think  you  ought  n't  to  have  had  four 

313 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


children,  and  having  had  them  you  need  n't 
have  taken  another  one  in,  though  she's  turned 
out  better  than  I  expected.  But  all  that  is  none 
of  my  business,  I  suppose,  and,  wrong-headed 
as  you  are,  I  like  you  better  than  ,  most  folks, 
which  is  n't  saying  much." 

"But  if  you  don't  share  my  way  of  thinking, 
why  do  you  keep  fretting  yourself  to  come  and 
see  us?  It  only  annoys  you." 

"It  annoys  me,  but  I  can't  help  coming, 
somehow.  I  guess  I  hate  other  places  and  other 
ways  worse  than  I  do  yours.  You  don't  grudge 
me  bed  and  board,  I  suppose?" 

"How  could  I  grudge  you  anything  when  you 
g£ve  us  so  much,  —  so  much  more  than  we  ought 
to  accept,  so  much  more  than  we  can  ever  thank 
you  for?" 

"I  don't  want  to  be  thanked;  you  know  that 
well  enough;  but  there's  so  much  demonstration 
in  your  family  you  can't  understand  anybody's 
keeping  themselves  exclusive.  I  don't  like  to 
fuss  over  people  or  have  them  fuss  over  me. 
Kissing  comes  as  easy  to  you  as  eating,  but  I 
never  could  abide  it.  A  nasty,  common  habit, 
I  call  it!  I  want  to  give  what  I  like  and  where 
and  when  I  like,  and  act  asl'ma  mind  to  after- 
wards. I  don't  give  because  I  see  things  are 
needed,  but  because  I  can't  spend  my  income 

314     . 


Grooves  of  Change 


unless  I  do  give.  If  I  could  have  my  way  I'd 
buy  you  a  good  house  in  Buffalo,  right  side  of 
mine;  take  your  beggarly  little  income  and  man- 
age it  for  you ;  build  a  six-foot  barbed  wire  fence 
round  the  lot  so  't  the  neighbors  could  n't  get 
in  and  eat  you  out  of  house  and  home,  and  in  a 
couple  of  years  I  could  make  something  out  of 
your  family!" 

Mrs.  Carey  put  down  her  sewing,  leaned  her 
head  back  against  the  crimson  rambler,  and 
laughed  till  the  welkin  rang. 

"I  suppose  you  think  I'm  crazy?"  Cousin 
Ann  remarked  after  a  moment's  pause. 

"I  don't  know,  Cousin  Ann,"  said  Mrs.  Carey, 
taking  up  her  work  again.  "Whatever  it  is,  you 
can't  help  it !  If  you  '11  give  up  trying  to  under- 
stand my  point  of  view,  I  won't  meddle  with 
yours!" 

"I  suppose  you  won't  come  to  Buffalo?" 

"No  indeed,  thank  you,  Cousin  Ann!" 

"You'll  stay  here,  in  this  benighted  village, 
and  grow  old,  —  you  that  are  a  handsome 
woman  of  forty  and  might  have  a  millionaire  hus- 
band to  take  care  of  you?" 

"My  husband  had  money  enough  to  please 
me,  and  when  I  meet  him  again  and  show  him 
the  four  children,  he  will  be  the  richest  man  in 
Paradise." 

315 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Cousin  Ann  rose.  "I'm  going  to-morrow,  and 
I  shan't  be  back  this  year.  I've  taken  passage 
on  a  steamer  that's  leaving  for  Liverpool  next 
week!" 

"Going  abroad!  Alone,  Cousin  Ann?" 

"No,  with  a  party  of  Cook's  tourists." 

"What  a  strange  idea!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Carey. 

"I  don't  see  why;  'most  everybody 's been 
abroad.  I  don't  expect  to  like  the  way  they  live 
over  there,  but  if  other  folks  can  stand  it,  I 
guess  I  can.  It'll  amuse  me  for  a  spell,  maybe, 
and  if  it  don't,  I  've  got  money  enough  to  break 
away  and  do  as  I'm  a  mind  to." 

The  last  evening  was  a  pleasant,  friendly  one, 
every  Carey  doing  his  or  her  best  to  avoid  risky 
subjects  and  to  be  as  agreeable  as  possible. 
Cousin  Ann  Chadwick  left  next  day,  and  Mrs. 
Carey,  bidding  the  strange  creature  good-bye, 
was  almost  sorry  that  she  had  ever  had  any 
arguments  with  her. 

"It  will  be  so  long  before  I  see  you  again, 
Cousin  Ann,  I  was  on  the  point  of  kissing  you,  — 
till  I  remembered!"  she  said  with  a  smile  as  she 
stood  at  the  gate. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  mind,  for  once,"  said  Miss 
Chadwick.  "If  anybody's  got  to  kiss  me  I'd 
rather  it  would  be  you  than  anybody!" 

316 


/ 


'/*U. 


>Mf 


. 


I   WAS   ON    THE   POINT    OF   KISSING   YOU  " 


Grooves  of  Change 


She  drove  away,  her  two  empty  trunks  in  the 
back  of  the  wagon.  She  sailed  for  Liverpool  the 
next  week  and  accompanied  her  chosen  party 
to  the  cathedral  towns  of  England.  There,  in  a 
quiet  corner  of  York  Minster,  as  the  boy  choir 
was  chanting  its  anthems,  her  heart,  an  organ  she 
had  never  been  conscious  of  possessing,  gave 
one  brief  sudden  physical  pang  and  she  passed 
out  of  what  she  had  called  life.  Neither  her 
family  affairs  nor  the  names  of  her  relations  were 
known,  and  the  news  of  her  death  did  not  reach 
far-away  Beulah  till  more  than  two  months 
afterward,  and  with  it  came  the  knowledge  that 
Cousin  Ann  Chadwick  had  left  the  income  of 
five  thousand  dollars  to  each  of  the  five  Carey 
children,  with  five  thousand  to  be  paid  in  cash 
to  Mother  Carey  on  the  settlement  of  the  estate. 


XXXII 

DOORS  OF  DARING 

Little  the  Careys  suspected  how  their  fortunes 
were  mending,  during  those  last  days  of  June! 
Had  they  known,  they  might  almost  have  been 
disappointed,  for  the  spur  of  need  was  already 
pricking  them,  and  their  valiant  young  spirits 
longed  to  be  in  the  thick  of  the  fray.  Plans  had 
been  formed  for  the  past  week,  many  of  them  in 
secret,  and  the  very  next  day  after  the  close  of 
the  academy,  various  business  projects  would 
burst  upon  a  waiting  world.  One  Sunday  night 
Mother  Carey  had  read  to  the  little  group  a 
poem  in  which  there  was  a  verse  that  struck 
on  their  ears  with  a  fine  spirit :  — 

"And  all  the  bars  at  which  we  fret, 
That  seem  to  prison  and  control, 
Are  but  the  doors  of  daring  set 
Ajar  before  the  soul." 

They  recited  it  over  and  over  to  themselves 
afterwards,  and  two  or  three  of  them  wrote  it 
down  and  pinned  it  to  the  wall,  or  tucked  it  in 
the  frame  of  the  looking  glass. 

Olive  Lord  knocked  at  her  father's  study  door 
318 


Doors  of  Daring 


the  morning  of  the  twenty-first  of  June.  Walk- 
ing in  quietly  she  said,  "Father,  yesterday  was 
my  seventeenth  birthday.  Mother  left  me  a 
letter  to  read  on  that  day,  telling  me  that  I 
should  have  fifty  dollars  a  month  of  my  own 
when  I  was  seventeen,  Cyril  to  have  as  much 
when  he  is  the  same  age." 

"If  you  had  waited  courteously  and  patiently 
for  a  few  days  you  would  have  heard  this  from 
me,"  her  father  answered. 

"I  couldn't  be  sure!"  Olive  replied.  "You 
never  did  notice  a  birthday;  why  should  you 
begin  now?" 

"I  have  more  important  matters  to  take  up 
my  mind  than  the  consideration  of  trivial 
dates,"  her  father  answered.  "You  knowT  that 
very  well,  and  you  know  too,  that  notwithstand- 
ing my  absorbing  labors,  I  have  endeavored  for 
the  last  few  months  to  give  more  of  my  time  to 
you  and  Cyril." 

"I  realize  that,  or  I  should  not  speak  to  you 
at  all,"  said  Olive.  "It  is  because  you  have 
shown  a  little  interest  in  us  lately  that  I  consult 
you.  I  want  to  go  at  once  to  Boston  to  study 
painting.  I  will  deny  myself  everything  else,  if 
necessary,  but  I  will  go,  and  I  will  study!  It  is 
the  only  life  I  care  for,  the  only  life  I  am  likely 
to  have,  and  I  am  determined  to  lead  it." 

319 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"You  must  see  that  you  are  too  young  to 
start  out  for  yourself  anywhere;  it  is  simply 
impossible." 

"I  shall  not  be  alone.  Mrs.  Carey  will  find 
me  a  good  home  in  Charlestown,  with  friends  of 
hers.   You  trust  her  judgment,  if  no  one  else's." 

"If  she  is  charitable  enough  to  conduct  your 
foolish  enterprises  as  well  as  those  of  her  own 
children,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I  have  talked 
with  her  frequently,  and  she  knows  that  as  soon 
as  I  have  finished  my  last  volume  I  shall  be  able 
to  take  a  more  active  interest  in  your  affairs 
and  Cyril's." 

"Then  may  I  go?" 

"When  I  hear  from  the  person  in  Charles- 
town,  yes.  There  is  an  expedition  starting  for 
South  America  in  a  few  months  and  I  have  been 
asked  to  accompany  the  party.  If  you  are  deter- 
mined to  leave  home  I  shall  be  free  to  accept 
the  invitation.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Carey  would  allow 
Cyril  to  stay  with  her  during  my  absence." 

"I  dare  say,  and  I  advise  you  to  go  to  South 
America  by  all  means;  you  will  be  no  farther 
away  from  your  family  than  you  have  always 
been ! "  With  this  parting  shot  Olive  Lord  closed 
the  study  door  behind  her. 

"That  girl  has  the  most  unpleasant  disposi- 
tion, and  the  sharpest  tongue,  I  ever  met  in  the 
320 


Doors  of  Daring 


course  of  my  life!"  said  Henry  Lord  to  himself 
as  he  turned  to  his  task. 

Mother  Carey's  magic  was  working  very 
slowly  in  his  blood.  It  had  roused  him  a  little 
from  the  bottomless  pit  cf  his  selfishness,  but 
much  mischief  had  been  done  on  all  sides,  and 
it  would  be  a  work  of  time  before  matters 
could  be  materially  mended.  Olive's  nature  was 
already  warped  and  embittered,  and  it  would 
require  a  deal  of  sunshine  to  make  a  plant  bloom 
that  had  been  so  dwarfed  by  neglect  and  in- 
difference. 

Nancy's  door  of  daring  opened  into  an  edi- 
torial office.  An  hour  here,  an  hour  there,  when 
the  Yellow  House  was  asleep,  had  brought  about 
a  story  that  was  on  its  way  to  a  distant  city.  It 
was  written,  with  incredible  care,  on  one  side 
of  the  paper  only;  it  enclosed  a  fully  stamped 
envelope  for  a  reply  or  a  return  of  the  manu- 
script, and  all  day  long  Nancy,  trembling  be- 
tween hope  and  despair,  went  about  hugging 
her  first  secret  to  her  heart. 

Gilbert  had  opened  his  own  particular  door, 
and  if  it  entailed  no  more  daring  than  that  of 
Nancy's  effort,  it  required  twice  the  amount  of 
self-sacrifice.  He  was  to  be,  from  June  twenty- 
seventh  till  August  twenty-seventh,  Bill  Har- 
mon's post-office  clerk  and  delivery  boy,  and  the 

321 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


first  that  the  family  would  know  about  it  would 
be  his  arrival  at  the  back  door,  in  a  linen  jacket, 
with  an  order-book  in  his  hand.  Bravo,  Gilly! 
One  can  see  your  heels  disappearing  over  the 
top  of  Shiny  Wall! 

The  door  of  daring  just  ready  to  be  opened 
by  Kathleen  and  Julia  was  of  a  truly  dramatic 
and  unexpected  character. 

Printed  in  plain  letters,  twenty-five  circulars 
reposed  in  the  folds  of  Julia's  nightdresses  in  her 
lower  bureau  drawer.  The  last  thing  to  be  done 
at  night  and  the  first  in  the  morning  was  the 
stealthy,  whispered  reading  of  one  of  these 
documents,  lest  even  after  the  hundredth  time, 
something  wrong  should  suddenly  appear  to  the 
eye  or  ear.  They  were  addressed,  they  were 
stamped,  and  they  would  be  posted  to  twenty- 
five  families  in  the  neighborhood  on  the  closing 
day  of  the  academy. 

SUMMER  VACATION  SCHOOL 

The  Misses  Kathleen  and  Julia  Carey  announce  the  opening  of 
classes  for  private  instruction  on  July  1st,  from  two  to  four 
o'clock  daily  in  the 

Hamilton  Barn. 
Faculty. 
Miss  Kathleen  Carey   Reading  &  Elocution  2  p.  M. 

Miss  Julia  Carey  Dancing,  Embroidery  $-30  p.  m. 

322 


Doors  of  Daring 


Mrs.  Peter  Carey  Vocal  Music,  Part  Singing  3  p.  M< 

Miss  Nancy  Carey        Composition  4  p.  m. 

Mr.  Gilbert  Carey        Wood    carving,    Jig    Sawing,    Manual 
Training  from  4  to  5  Fridays  only. 

Terms  cash.   25  cents  a  week. 

N.  B.  Children  prepared  for  entrance  to  the  academy  at 
special  prices. 

Meantime  the  Honorable  Lemuel  Hamilton 
had  come  to  America,  and  was  opening  doors  of 
daring  at  such  a  rate  of  speed  that  he  hardly 
realized  the  extent  of  his  own  courage  and  what 
it  involved.  He  accepted  an  official  position  of 
considerable  honor  and  distinction  in  Washing- 
ton, rented  a  house  there,  and  cabled  his  wife 
and  younger  daughter  to  come  over  in  Septem- 
ber. He  wrote  his  elder  daughter  that  she  might 
go  with  some  friends  to  Honolulu  if  she  would 
return  for  Christmas.  ("It's  eleven  years  since 
we  had  a  Christmas  tree,"  he  added,  "and  the 
first  thing  you  know  we  shall  have  lost  the 
habit!") 

To  his  son  Jack  in  Texas  he  expressed  himself 
as  so  encouraged  by  the  last  business  statement, 
which  showed  a  decided  turn  for  the  better, 
that  he  was  willing  to  add  a  thousand  dollars  to 
the  capital  and  irrigate  some  more  of  the  unim- 
proved land  on  the  ranch. 

323 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"If  Jack  has  really  got  hold  out  there,  he  can 
come  home  every  two  or  three  years,"  he 
thought.  "Well,  perhaps  I  shall  succeed  in 
getting  part  of  them  together,  part  of  the  time, 
if  I  work  hard  enough;  all  but  Tom,  whom  I  care 
most  about!  Now  that  everything  is  in  train 
I'll  take  a  little  vacation  myself,  and  go  down 
to  Beulah  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  those 
Careys.  If  I  had  ever  contemplated  returning 
to  America  I  suppose  I  should  n't  have  allowed 
them  to  settle  down  in  the  old  house,  still, 
Eleanor  would  never  have  been  content  to  pass 
her  summers  there,  so  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well." 

The  Peter-bird  was  too  young  to  greatly  dare; 
still  it  ought  perhaps  to  be  set  down  that  he 
sold  three  dozen  marbles  and  a  new  kite  to 
Billy  Harmon  that  summer,  and  bought  his 
mother  a  birthday  present  with  the  money.  All 
Peter's  "doors  of  daring"  had  hitherto  opened 
into  places  from  which  he  issued  weeping,  with 
sprained  ankles,  bruised  hands,  skinned  knees 
or  burned  eyelashes. 


XXXIII 

MOTHER  HAMILTON'S  BIRTHDAY 

It  was  the  Fourth  of  July;  a  hot,  still  day  when 
one  could  fairly  see  the  green  peas  swelling  in 
their  pods  and  the  string  beans  elimbing  their 
poles  like  acrobats !  Young  Beulah  had  rung  the 
church  bell  at  midnight,  cast  its  torpedoes  to 
earth  in  the  early  morning,  flung  its  fire-crack- 
ers under  the  horses'  feet,  and  felt  somewhat 
relieved  of  its  superfluous  patriotism  by  break- 
fast time.  Then  there  was  a  parade  of  Antiques 
and  Horribles,  accompanied  by  the  Beulah 
Band,  which,  though  not  as  antique,  was  fully 
as  horrible  as  anything  in  the  procession. 

From  that  time  on,  the  day  had  been  som- 
nolent, enlivened  in  the  Carey  household  only 
by  the  solemn  rite  of  paying  the  annual  rent  of 
the  Yellow  House.  The  votive  nosegay  had 
been  carefully  made  up,  and  laid  lovingly  by 
Nancy  under  Mother  Hamilton's  portrait,  in  the 
presence  not  only  of  the  entire  family,  but  also 
of  Osh  Popham,  who  had  called  to  present  early 
radishes  and  peppergrass. 

"I'd  like  to  go  upstairs  with  you  when  you 
get  your  boquet  tied  up,"  he  said,  "because  it's 

325 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


an  awful  hot  day,  an'  the  queer  kind  o'  things 
you  do  't  this  house  allers  makes  my  backbone 
cold!  I  never  suspicioned  that  Lem  Hamilton 
hed  the  same  kind  o'  fantasmic  notions  that 
you  folks  have,  but  I  guess  it's  like  tenant, 
like  landlord,  in  this  case!  Anyhow,  I  want  to 
see  the  rent  paid,  if  you  don't  mind.  I  wish't 
you'd  asked  that  mean  old  sculpin  of  a  Hen 
Lord  over;  he  owns  my  house  an'  it  might  put 
a  few  idees  into  his  head!" 

In  the  afternoon  Nancy  took  her  writing  pad 
and  sat  on  the  circular  steps,  where  it  was  cool. 
The  five  o'clock  train  from  Boston  whistled  at 
the  station  a  mile  away  as  she  gathered  her 
white  skirts  daintily  up  and  settled  herself  in 
the  shadiest  corner.  She  was  unconscious  of  the 
passing  time,  and  scarcely  looked  up  until  the 
rattling  of  wheels  caught  her  ear.  It  was  the 
station  wagon  stopping  at  the  Yellow  House  gate, 
and  a  strange  gentleman  was  alighting.  He  had 
an  unmistakable  air  of  the  town.  His  clothes 
were  not  as  Beulah  clothes  and  his  hat  was  not 
as  Beulah  hats,  for  it  was  a  fine  Panama  with 
a  broad  sweeping  brim.  Nancy  rose  from  the 
steps,  surprise  dawning  first  in  her  eyes,  then 
wonder,  then  suspicion,  then  conviction;  then 
two  dimples  appeared  in  her  cheeks. 

The  stranger  lifted  the  foreign-looking  hat 
326 


Mother  Hamilton's  Birthday 

with  a  smile  and  said,  "My  little  friend  and 
correspondent,  Nancy  Carey,  I  think?" 

"My  American  Consul,  I  do  believe !"  cried 
Nancy  joyously,  as  she  ran  down  the  path  with 
both  hands  outstretched.  "  Where  did  you  come 
from?  Why  did  n't  you  tell  us  beforehand? 
We  never  even  heard  that  you  were  in  this 
country !  Oh !  I  know  why  you  chose  the  Fourth 
of  July!  It's  pay  day,  and  you  thought  we 
should  n't  be  ready  with  the  rent;  but  it's  all 
attended  to,  beautifully,  this  morning!" 

"May  I  send  my  bag  to  the  Mansion  House 
and  stay  a  while  with  you?"  asked  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton. "Are  the  rest  of  you  at  home?  How  are 
Gilbert  and  Kathleen  and  Julia  and  Peter?  How, 
especially,  is  Mother  Carey?" 

"What  a  memory  you  have!"  exclaimed 
Nancy.  "Take  Mr.  Hamilton's  bag,  please,  Mr. 
Bennett,  and  tell  them  at  the  hotel  that  he  won't 
be  there  until  after  supper." 

It  was  a  pleasant  hour  that  ensued,  for  Nancy 
had  broken  the  ice  and  there  was  plenty  of  con- 
versation. Then  too,  the  whole  house  had  to  be 
shown,  room  by  room,  even  to  Cousin  Ann's 
stove  in  the  cellar  and  the  pump  in  the  kitchen 
sink. 

"I  never  saw  anything  like  it!"  exclaimed 
Hamilton.  "It  is  like  magic!  I  ought  to  pay  you 

327 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


a  thousand  dollars  on  the  spot !  I  ought  to  try 
and  buy  the  place  of  you  for  five  thousand! 
Why  don't  you  go  into  the  business  of  re- 
creating houses  and  selling  them  to  poor  be- 
nighted creatures  like  me,  who  never  realize 
their  possibilities?" 

"If  we  show  you  the  painted  chamber  will 
you  promise  not  to  be  too  unhappy?"  asked 
Nancy.  "You  can't  help  crying  with  rage  and 
grief  that  it  is  our  painted  chamber,  not  yours; 
but  try  to  bear  up  until  you  get  to  the  hotel, 
because  mother  is  so  soft-hearted  she  will  be 
giving  it  back  to  you  unless  I  interfere." 

"You  must  have  spent  money  lavishly  when 
you  restored  this  room,"  said  the  Consul;  "it 
is  a  real  work  of  art." 

"Not  a  penny,"  said  Mrs.  Carey.  "It  is  the 
work  of  a  great  friend  of  Nancy's,  a  seventeen- 
year-old  girl,  who,  we  expect,  will  make  Beulah 
famous  some  day.  Now  will  you  go  into  your 
mother's  room  and  find  your  way  downstairs 
by  yourself?  Julia,  will  you  show  Mr.  Hamilton 
the  barn  a  little  later,  while  Nancy  and  I  get 
supper?  Kitty  must  go  to  the  Pophams'  for 
Peter;  he  is  spending  the  afternoon  with  them." 

Nancy  had  enough  presence  of  mind  to  inter- 
cept Kitty  and  hiss  into  her  ear:  "Borrow  a  loaf 
of  bread  from  Mrs.  Popham,  we  are  short;  and 

328 


Mother  Hamilton's  Birthday 

see  if  you  can  find  any  way  to  get  strawberries 
from  Bill  Harmon's;  it  was  to  have  been  a 
bread-and-milk  supper  on  the  piazza  to-night, 
and  it  must  be  hurriedly  changed  into  a  Con- 
sular banquet!    Verb.  sap.   Fly!" 

Gilbert  turned  up  a  little  before  six  o'clock 
and  was  introduced  proudly  by  his  mother  as  a 
son  who  had  just  "gone  into  business." 

"I'm  Bill  Harmon's  summer  clerk  and  de- 
livery boy,"  he  explained.  "It's  great  fun,  and 
I  get  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  week." 

Nancy  and  her  mother  worked  like  Trojans  in 
the  kitchen,  for  they  agreed  it  was  no  time  for 
economy,  even  if  they  had  less  to  eat  for  a  week 
to  come. 

"Mr.  Hamilton  is  just  as  nice  as  I  guessed  he 
was,  when  his  first  letter  came,"  said  Nancy. 
"I  went  upstairs  to  get  a  card  for  the  supper 
menu,  and  he  was  standing  by  your  mantel- 
piece with  his  head  bent  over  his  arms.  He  had 
the  little  bunch  of  field  flowers  in  his  hand,  and 
I  know  he  had  been  smelling  them,  and  look- 
ing at  his  mother's  picture,  and  remembering 
things!" 

What  a  merry  supper  it  was,  with  a  jug  of 
black-eyed  Susans  in  the  centre  of  the  table  and 
a  written  bill  of  fare  for  Mr.  Hamilton,  "because 
he  was  a  Consul,"  so  Nancy  said. 

329  * 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Gilbert  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  Mr. 
Hamilton  thought  he  had  never  seen  anything 
so  beautiful  as  Mrs.  Carey  in  her  lavender 
challie,  sitting  behind  the  tea  cups;  unless  it  was 
Nancy,  flushed  like  a  rose,  changing  the  plates 
and  waiting  on  the  table  between  courses.  He 
had  never  exerted  himself  so  much  at  any 
diplomatic  dinner,  and  he  won  the  hearts  of 
the  entire  family  before  the  meal  was  finished. 

"By  the  way,  I  have  a  letter  of  introduction 
to  you  all,  but  especially  to  Miss  Nancy  here, 
and  I  have  never  thought  to  deliver  it,"  he  said. 
"Who  do  you  think  sent  it,  —  all  the  way  from 
China?" 

"My  son  Tom!"  exclaimed  Nancy  irrepressi- 
bly;  "but  no,  he  could  n't,  because  he  does  n't 
know  us." 

"The  Admiral,  of  course!"  cried  Gilbert. 

"You  are  both  right,"  Mr.  Hamilton  an- 
swered, drawing  a  letter  from  his  coat  pocket. 
"It  is  a  Round  Robin  from  the  Admiral  and  my 
son  Tom,  who  have  been  making  acquaintance 
in  Hong  Kong.   It  is  addressed : 

FROM    THE   YELLOW    PERIL,    IN    CHINA 

to 

THE   YELLOW   HOUSE,    IN   BETJLAH, 

Greeting! " 
330 


Mother  Hamilton's  Birthday 

Nancy  crimsoned.  "  Did  the  Admiral  tell  your 
son  Tom  I  called  him  the  Yellow  Peril?  It  was 
wicked  of  him!  I  did  it,  you  know,  because  you 
wrote  me  that  the  only  Hamilton  who  cared  any- 
thing for  the  old  house,  or  would  ever  want  to 
live  in  it,  was  your  son  Tom.  After  that  I  always 
called  him  the  Yellow  Peril,  and  I  suppose  I 
mentioned  it  in  a  letter  to  the  Admiral." 

"I  am  convinced  that  Nancy's  mind  is  always 
empty  at  bedtime,"  said  her  mother,  "because 
she  tells  everything  in  it  to  somebody  during  the 
day.  I  hope  age  will  bring  discretion,  but  I  doubt 
it." 

"My  son  Tom  is  coming  home!"  said  his  fa- 
ther, with  unmistakable  delight  in  his  voice. 

Nancy,  who  was  passing  the  cake,  sat  down 
so  heavily  in  her  chair  that  everybody  laughed. 

"Come,  come,  Miss  Nancy!  I  can't  let  you 
make  an  ogre  of  the  boy,"  urged  Mr.  Hamilton. 
"He  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  if  he  comes  down  here 
to  look  at  the  old  place  you  are  sure  to  be  good 
friends." 

"Is  he  going  back  to  China  after  his  visit?" 
asked  Mrs.  Carey,  who  felt  a  fear  of  the  young 
man  something  akin  to  her  daughter's. 

"No,  I  am  glad  to  say.  Our  family  has  been 
too  widely  separated  for  the  last  ten  years.  At 
first  it  seemed  necessary,  or  at  least  convenient 

331 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


and  desirable,  and  I  did  not  think  much  about  it. 
But  lately  it  has  been  continually  on  my  mind 
that  we  were  leading  a  cheerless  existence,  and 
I  am  determined  to  arrange  matters  differently." 

Mrs.  Carey  remembered  Ossian  Popham's  de- 
scription of  Mrs.  Lemuel  Hamilton  and  forebore 
to  ask  any  questions  with  regard  to  her  where- 
abouts, since  her  husband  did  not  mention  her. 

"You  will  all  be  in  Washington  then,"  she 
said,  "and  your  son  Tom  with  you,  of  course?" 

"Not  quite  so  near  as  that,"  his  father  replied, 
"Tom's  firm  is  opening  a  Boston  office  and  he 
will  be  in  charge  of  that.  When  do  you  expect 
the  Admiral  back?  Tom  talks  of  their  coming 
together  on  the  Bedouin,  if  it  can  be  arranged." 

"We  have  n't  heard  lately,"  said  Mrs.  Carey; 
"but  he  should  return  within  a  month  or  two, 
should  he  not,  Nancy?  My  daughter  wTrites  all 
the  letters  for  the  family,  Mr.  Hamilton,  as  you 
know  by  this  time." 

"I  do,  to  my  great  delight  and  satisfaction. 
Now  there  is  one  thing  I  have  not  seen  yet,  some- 
thing about  which  I  have  a  great  deal  of  senti- 
ment. May  I  smoke  my  cigar  under  the  famous 
crimson  rambler?" 

The  sun  set  flaming  red,  behind  the  Beulah 
hills.  The  frogs  sang  in  the  pond  by  the  House 
of  Lords,  and  the  grasshoppers  chirped  in  the 

332 


Mother  Hamilton's  Birthday 

long  grass  of  Mother  Hamilton's  favorite  hay- 
field.  Then  the  moon,  round  and  deep-hued  as 
a  great  Mandarin  orange,  came  up  into  the  sky 
from  which  the  sun  had  faded,  and  the  little  group 
still  sat  on  the  side  piazza,  talking.  Nothing 
but  their  age  and  size  kept  the  Carey  chick- 
ens out  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  lap,  and  Peter  finally 
went  to  sleep  with  his  head  against  the  consul's 
knee.  He  was  a  "lappy"  man,  Nancy  said  next 
morning;  and  indeed  there  had  been  no  one  like 
him  in  the  family  circle  for  many  a  long  month. 
He  was  tender,  he  was  gay,  he  was  fatherly,  he 
was  interested  in  all  that  concerned  them  ;  so  no 
wonder  that  he  heard  all  about  Gilbert's  plans 
for  earning  money,  and  Nancy's  accepted  story. 
No  wonder  he  exclaimed  at  the  check  for  ten  dol- 
lars proudly  exhibited  in  payment,  and  no  won- 
der he  marvelled  at  the  Summer  Vacation  School 
in  the  barn,  where  fourteen  little  scholars  were 
already  enrolled  under  the  tutelage  of  the  Carey 
Faculty.  "I  never  wanted  to  go  to  anything  in 
my  life  as  much  as  I  want  to  go  to  that  school!" 
he  asserted.  "If  I  could  write  a  circular  as  en- 
ticing as  that,  I  should  be  a  rich  man.  I  wish 
you  'd  let  me  have  some  new  ones  printed,  girls, 
and  put  me  down  for  three  evening  lectures ;  I  'd 
do  almost  anything  to  get  into  that  Faculty." 
"I  wish  you  'd  give  the  lectures  for  the  benefit 
333 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


of  the  Faculty,  that  would  be  better  still,"  said 
Kitty.  "Nancy's  coming-out  party  was  to  be  in 
the  barn  this  summer;  that 's  one  of  the  things 
we  're  earning  money  for;  or  at  least  we  make 
believe  that  it  is,  because  it 's  so  much  more  fun 
to  work  for  a  party  than  for  coal  or  flour  or 
meat!" 

A  look  from  Mrs.  Carey  prevented  the  chil- 
dren from  making  any  further  allusions  to  econ- 
omy, and  Gilbert  skilfully  turned  the  subject  by 
giving  a  dramatic  description  of  the  rise  and  fall 
of  The  Dirty  Boy,  from  its  first  appearance  at[his 
mother's  wedding  breakfast  to  its  last,  at  the 
house-warming  supper. 

After  Lemuel  Hamilton  had  gone  back  to  the 
little  country  hotel  he  sat  by  the  open  window 
for  another  hour,  watching  the  moonbeams  shim- 
mering on  the  river  and  bathing  the  tip  of  the 
white  meeting-house  steeple  in  a  flood  of  light. 
The  air  was  still  and  the  fireflies  were  rising  above 
the  thick  grass  and  carrying  their  fairy  lamps 
into  the  lower  branches  of  the  feathery  elms. 
"Haying"  would  begin  next  morning,  and  he 
would  be  wakened  by  the  sharpening  of  scythes 
and  the  click  of  mowing  machines.  He  would 
like  to  work  in  the  Hamilton  fields,  he  thought, 
knee-deep  in  daisies,  —  fields  on  whose  grass  he 
had  not  stepped   since  he  was  a  boy  just  big 

334 


Mother  Hamilton's  Birthday 

enough  to  go  behind  the  cart  and  "rake  after." 
What  an  evening  it  had  been !  None  of  them 
had  known  it,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  had  all 
scaled  Shiny  Wall  and  had  been  sitting  with  Mo- 
ther Carey  in  Peacepool ;  that  was  what  had  made 
everything  so  beautiful!  Mr.  Hamilton's  last 
glimpse  of  the  Careys  had  been  the  group  at  the 
Yellow  House  gate.  Mrs.  Carey,  with  her  brown 
hair  shining  in  the  moonlight  leaned  against  Gil- 
bert, the  girls  stood  beside  her,  their  arms  locked 
in  hers,  while  Peter  clung  sleepily  to  her  hand. 

"I  believe  they  are  having  hard  times!"  he 
thought,  "and  I  can't  think  of  anything  I  can 
safely  do  to  make  things  easier.  Still,  one  can- 
not pity,  one  can  only  envy  them!  That  is  the 
sort  of  mother  I  would  have  made  had  I  been  Na- 
ture and  given  a  free  hand !  I  would  have  put  a 
label  on  Mrs.  Carey,  saying:  'This  is  what  I 
meant  a  woman  to  be! ' " 


XXXIV 

NANCY  COMES  OUT 

Nancy's  seventeenth  birthday  was  past,  and  it 
was  on  the  full  of  the  August  moon  that  she  fin- 
ally "came  out  "in  the  Hamilton  barn.  It  was 
the  barn's  first  public  appearance  too,  for  the  vil- 
lagers had  not  been  invited  to  the  private  Satur- 
day night  dances  that  took  place  during  the  brief 
reign  of  the  Hamilton  boys  and  girls.  Beulah 
was  more  excited  about  the  barn  than  it  was 
about  Nancy,  and  she  was  quite  in  sympathy 
with  this  view  of  things,  as  the  entire  Carey  fam- 
ily, from  mother  to  Peter,  was  fairly  bewitched 
with  its  new  toy.  Day  by  day  it  had  grown 
more  enchanting  as  fresh  ideas  occurred  to  one  or 
another,  and  especially  to  Osh  Popham,  who 
lived,  breathed,  and  had  his  being  in  the  barn, 
and  who  had  lavished  his  ingenuity  and  skill 
upon  its  fittings.  Not  a  word  did  he  vouchsafe 
to  the  general  public  of  the  extraordinary  nature 
of  these  fittings,  nor  of  the  many  bewildering 
features  of  the  entertainment  which  was  to  take 
place  within  the  almost  sacred  precincts.  All 
the  Carey  festivities  had  heretofore  been  in  the 
house  save  the  one  in  honor  of  the  hanging  of  the 

336 


Nancy  Comes  Out 


weather  vane,  which  had  been  an  out-of-door 
function,  attended  by  the  whole  village.  Now 
the  community  was  all  agog  to  disport  itself  in 
pastures  new;  its  curiosity  being  further  piqued 
by  the  reception  of  written  invitations,  a  conven- 
tion not  often  indulged  in  by  Beulah. 

The  eventful  day  dawned,  clear  and  cool;  a 
day  with  an  air  like  liquid  amber,  that  properly 
belonged  to  September,  —  the  weather  prophet 
really  shifting  it  into  August  from  pure  kindness, 
having  taken  a  sticky  dogday  out  and  pitch- 
forked it  into  the  next  month. 

The  afternoon  passed  in  various  stages  of  plot- 
ting, planning,  and  palpitation,  and  every  girl  in 
Beulah,  of  dancing  age,  was  in  her  bedroom,  try- 
ing her  hair  a  new  way.  The  excitement  in- 
creased a  thousand  fold  when  it  was  rumored 
that  an  Admiral  (whatever  that  might  be)  had 
arrived  at  the  hotel  and  would  appear  at  the 
barn  in  full  uniform.  After  that,  nobody's 
braids  or  puffs  would  go  right ! 

Nancy  never  needed  to  study  Paris  plates,  for 
her  hair  dressed  itself  after  a  fashion  set  by  all 
the  Venuses  and  Cupids  and  little  Loves  since 
the  world  began.  It  curled,  whether  she  would 
or  no,  so  the  only  method  was  to  part  the  curls 
and  give  them  a  twist  into  a  coil,  from  which 
vagrant  spirals  fell  to  the  white  nape  of  her  neck. 

337 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Or,  if  she  felt  gay  and  coquettish  as  she  did  to- 
night, the  curls  were  pinned  high  to  the  crown 
of  her  head  and  the  runaways  rioted  here  and 
there,  touching  her  cheek,  her  ear,  her  neck, 
never  ugly,  wherever  they  ran. 

Nancy  had  a  new  yellow  organdy  made  "al- 
most to  touch/'  and  a  twist  of  yellow  ribbon  in 
her  hair.  Kathleen  and  Julia  were  in  the  white 
dresses  brought  them  by  Cousin  Ann,  and  Mrs. 
Carey  wore  her  new  black  silk,  made  with  a 
sweeping  little  train.  Her  wedding  necklace 
of  seed  pearls  was  around  her  neck,  and  a  tall 
comb  of  tortoise  shell  and  pearls  rose  from  the 
low-coiled  knot  of  her  shining  hair. 

The  family  "received"  in  the  old  carriage 
house,  and  when  everybody  had  assembled,  to 
the  number  of  seventy-five  or  eighty,  the  door 
into  the  barn  was  thrown  open  majestically  by 
Gilbert,  in  his  character  as  head  of  the  house  of 
Carey.  Words  fail  to  describe  the  impression 
made  by  the  barn  as  it  was  introduced  to  the 
company,  Nancy's  debut  sinking  into  positive 
insignificance  beside  it. 

Dozens  of  brown  japanned  candle-lanterns 
hung  from  the  beamed  ceiling,  dispensing  little 
twinkles  of  light  here  and  there,  while  larger  ones 
swung  from  harness  pegs  driven  into  the  sides  of 
the  walls.  The  soft  gray-brown  of  the  old  weath- 

338 


Nancy  Comes  Out 


ered  lumber  everywhere,  made  a  lovely  back- 
ground for  the  birch-bark  brackets,  and  the  white 
birch-bark  vases  that  were  filled  with  early  golden- 
rod,  mixed  with  tall  Queen  Anne's  lace  and  golden 
glow.  The  quaint  settles  surrounding  the  sides 
of  the  room  were  speedily  rilled  by  the  admiring 
guests.  Colonel  Wheeler's  tiny  upright  piano 
graced  the  platform  in  the  "tie  up."  Miss  Susie 
Bennett,  the  church  organist,  was  to  play  it,  aided 
now  and  then  by  Mrs.  Carey  or  Julia.  Osh  Pop- 
ham  was  to  take  turns  on  the  violin  with  a  cousin 
from  Warren's  Mills,  who  was  reported  to  be  the 
master  fiddler  of  the  county. 

When  all  was  ready  Mrs.  Carey  stood  between 
the  master  fiddler  and  Susie  Bennett,  and  there 
was  a  sudden  hush  in  the  room.  "Friends  and 
neighbors,"  she  said,  "we  now  declare  the  Hall 
of  Happy  Hours  open  for  the  general  good  of  the 
village.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  generosity  of 
our  landlord,  Mr.  Lemuel  Hamilton,  we  could 
never  have  given  you  this  pleasure,  and  had  not 
our  helpers  been  so  many,  we  could  never  have 
made  the  place  so  beautiful.  Before  the  general 
dancing  begins  there  will  be  a  double  quadrille  of 
honor,  in  which  all  those  will  take  part  who 
have  driven  a  nail,  papered  or  painted  a  wall, 
dug  a  spadeful  of  earth,  or  done  any  work  in  or 
about  the  Yellow  House." 

339 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"Three  cheers  for  Mrs.  Carey!"  called  Bill 
Harmon,  and  everybody  complied  lustily. 

"Three  cheers  for  Lemuel  Hamilton!"  and  the 
rafters  of  the  barn  rang  with  the  response. 

Just  then  the  Admiral  changed  his  position 
to  conceal  the  moisture  that  was  beginning  to 
gather  in  his  eyes;  and  the  sight  of  a  person- 
age so  unspeakably  magnificent  in  a  naval 
uniform  induced  Osh  Popham  to  cry  spontane- 
ously: "Three  cheers  for  the  Admiral!  I  don't 
know  what  he  ever  done,  but  he  looks  as  if  he 
could,  all  right!"  at  which  everybody  cheered 
and  roared,  and  the  Admiral  to  his  great  sur- 
prise made  a  speech,  during  which  the  telltale 
tears  appeared  so  often  in  his  eyes  and  in  his 
voice,  that  Osh  Popham  concluded  privately  that 
if  the  naval  hero  ever  did  meet  an  opposing  bat- 
tleship he  would  be  likelier  to  drown  the  enemy 
than  fire  into  them! 

The  double  quadrille  of  honor  passed  off  with 
much  elegance,  everybody  not  participating  in 
it  being  green  with  envy  because  he  was  not. 
Mrs.  Carey  and  the  Admiral  were  partners; 
Nancy  danced  with  Mr.  Popham,  Kathleen  with 
Digby,  Julia  with  Bill  Harmon.  The  other  cou- 
ples were  Mrs.  Popham  and  Gilbert,  Lallie  Joy 
and  Cyril  Lord,  Olive  and  Nat  Harmon,  while 
Mrs.  Bill  led  out  a  very  shy  and  uncomfortable 

340 


Nancy  Comes  Out 


gentleman  who  had  dug  the  ditches  for  Cousin 
Ann's  expensive  pipes. 

Then  the  fun  and  the  frolic  began  in  earnest. 
The  girls  had  been  practising  the  old-fashioned 
contra  dances  all  summer,  and  training  the 
younger  generation  in  them  at  the  Vacation 
School.  The  old  folks  needed  no  rehearsal!  If 
you  had  waked  any  of  them  in  the  night  sud- 
denly they  could  have  called  the  changes  for 
Speed  the  Plough,  The  Soldier's  Joy,  The  Maid 
in  the  Pump  Room,  or  Hull's  Victory. 

Money  Musk  brought  Nancy  and  Mr.  Henry 
Lord  on  to  the  floor  as  head  couple;  a  result  at- 
tained by  that  young  lady  by  every  means,  fair 
or  foul,  known  to  woman ;  at  least  a  rudimentary, 
budding  woman  of  seventeen  summers !  His  com- 
ing to  the  party  at  all  was  regarded  by  Mother 
Carey,  who  had  spent  the  whole  force  of  her  be- 
ing in  managing  it,  as  nothing  short  of  a  miracle. 
He  had  accepted  partly  from  secret  admiration 
of  his  handsome  neighbor,  partly  to  show  the  vil- 
lage that  he  did  not  choose  always  to  be  a  hermit 
crab,  partly  out  of  curiosity  to  see  the  unusual 
gathering.  Having  crawled  out  of  his  selfish 
shell  far  enough  to  grace  the  occasion,  he  took 
another  step  when  Nancy  asked  him  to  dance. 
It  was  pretty  to  see  her  curtsey  when  she  put  the 
question,  pretty  to  see  the  air  of  triumph  with 

341 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


which  she  led  him  to  the  head  of  the  line,  and 
positively  delightful  to  the  onlookers  to  see  Hen 
Lord  doing  right  and  left,  ladies'  chain,  balance 
to  opposite  and  cast  off,  at  a  girl's  beck  and  call. 
He  was  not  a  bad  dancer,  when  his  sluggish  blood 
once  got  into  circulation;  and  he  was  consider- 
ably more  limber  at  the  end  of  Money  Musk, 
considerably  less  like  a  wooden  image,  than  at 
the  beginning  of  it. 

In  the  interval  between  this  astounding  ex- 
hibition and  the  Rochester  Schottisch  which  fol- 
lowed it,  Henry  Lord  went  up  to  Mrs.  Carey, 
who  was  sitting  in  a  corner  a  little  apart  from 
her  guests  for  the  moment. 

"Shall  I  go  to  South  America,  or  shall  I  not?" 
he  asked  her  in  an  undertone.  "Olive  seems 
pleasantly  settled,  and  Cyril  tells  me  you  will 
consent  to  take  him  into  your  family  for  six 
months;  still,  I  would  like  a  woman's  advice." 

Mother  Carey  neither  responded,  "I  should 
prefer  not  to  take  the  responsibility  of  advising 
you,"  nor  "Pray  do  as  you  think  best";  she  sim- 
ply said,  in  a  tone  she  might  have  used  to  a  frac- 
tious boy: 

"I  wouldn't  go,  Mr.  Lord!  Wait  till  Olive 
and  Cyril  are  a  little  older.  Cyril  will  grow  into 
my  family  instead  of  into  his  own;  Olive  will 
learn  to  do  without  you;  worse  yet,  you  will  learn 

342 


Nancy  Comes  Out 


to  do  without  your  children.  Stay  at  home  and 
have  Olive  come  back  to  you  and  her  brother 
every  week  end.  South  America  is  a  long  dis- 
tance when  there  are  only  three  of  you ! " 

Prof.  Lord  was  not  satisfied  with  Mrs.  Carey's 
tone.  It  was  so  maternal  that  he  expected  at  any 
moment  she  might  brush  his  hair,  straighten  his 
necktie,  and  beg  him  not  to  sit  up  too  late,  but 
his  instinct  told  him  it  was  the  only  tone  he  was 
ever  likely  to  hear  from  her,  and  so  he  said  re- 
luctantly, "Very  well;  I  confess  that  I  really 
rely  on  your  judgment,  and  I  will  decline  the 
invitation." 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  Mrs.  Carey  answered, 
wondering  if  the  man  would  ever  see  his  duty 
with  his  own  eyes,  or  whether  he  had  deliberately 
blinded  himself  for  life. 


XXXV 

THE  CRIMSON  RAMBLER 

While  Mrs.  Carey  was  talking  with  Mr.  Lord, 
Nancy  skimmed  across  the  barn  floor  intent  on 
some  suddenly  remembered  duty,  went  out  into 
the  garden,  and  met  face  to  face  a  strange 
young  man  standing  by  the  rose  trellis  and  look- 
ing in  at  the  dance  through  the  open  door. 

He  had  on  a  conventional  black  dinner-coat, 
something  never  seen  in  Beulah,  and  wore  a  soft 
travelling  cap.  At  first  Nancy  thought  he  was  a 
friend  of  the  visiting  fiddler,  but  a  closer  look  at 
his  merry  dark  eyes  gave  her  the  feeling  that  she 
had  seen  him  before,  or  somebody  very  like  him. 
He  did  not  wait  for  her  to  speak,  but  taking  off 
his  cap,  put  out  his  hand  and  said:  "By  your  re- 
semblance to  a  photograph  in  my  possession  I 
think  you  are  the  girl  who  planted  the  crimson 
rambler." 

"Are  you  'my  son  Tom '?"  asked  Nancy,  open 
astonishment  in  her  tone.  "I  mean  my  Mr. 
Hamilton's  son  Tom?" 

"I  am  my  Mr.  Hamilton's  son  Tom;  or  shall 
we  say  our  Mr.  Hamilton's?  Do  two  'mys'  make 
one  'our'?" 

344 


The  Crimson  Rambler 


"Upon  my  word,  wonders  will  never  cease  !9> 
exclaimed  Nancy.  "The  Admiral  said  you  were 
in  Boston,  but  he  never  told  us  you  would  visit 
Beulah  so  soon!" 

"No,  I  wanted  it  to  be  a  secret.  I  wanted  to 
appear  when  the  ball  was  at  its  height;  the  ghost 
of  the  old  regime  confronting  the  new,  so  to 
speak." 

"Beulah  will  soon  be  a  summer  resort;  every- 
body seems  to  be  coming  here." 

"It 's  partly  your  fault,  is  n't  it?" 

"Why,  pray?" 

"'The  Water  Babies'  is  one  of  my  favorite 
books,  and  I  know  all  about  Mother  Carey's 
chickens.  They  go  out  over  the  seas  and  show 
good  birds  the  way  home." 

"Are  you  a  good  bird?"  asked  Nancy  saucily. 

"I  'm  home,  at  all  events!"  said  Tom  with  an 
emphasis  that  made  Nancy  shiver  lest  the 
young  -  man  had  come  to  Beulah  with  a  view  of 
taking  up  his  residence  in  the  paternal  mansion. 

The  two  young  people  sat  down  on  the  piazza 
steps  while  the  music  of  The  Sultan's  Polka 
floated  out  of  the  barn  door.  Old  Mrs.  Jenks 
was  dancing  with  Peter,  her  eighty-year-old 
steps  as  fleet  as  his,  her  white  side-curls  bob- 
bing to  the  tune.  Her  withered  hands  clasped 
his  dimpled  ones  and  the  two  seemed  to  be  of  the 

345 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


same  age,  for  in  the  atmosphere  of  laughter  and 
goodwill  there  would  have  been  no  place  for  the 
old  in  heart,  and  certainly  Mrs.  Jenks  was  as 
young  as  any  one  at  the  party. 

"I  can't  help  dreading  you,  nice  and  amiable 
as  you  look,"  said  Nancy  candidly  to  Tom  Ham- 
ilton; "I  am  so  afraid  you  '11  fall  in  love  with  the 
Yellow  House  and  want  it  back  again.  Are  you 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  little-footed  China 
doll,  or  anything  like  that?"  she  asked  with  a 
teasing,  upward  look  and  a  disarming  smile  that 
robbed  the  question  of  any  rudeness. 

"No,  not  engaged  to  anything  or  anybody, 
but  I  've  a  notion  I  shall  be,  soon,  if  all  goes 
well!  I'm  getting  along  in  years  now!" 

"I  might  have  known  it!"  sighed  Nancy.  "It 
was  a  prophetic  instinct,  my  calling  you  the  Yel- 
low Peril." 

"It  isn't  a  bit  nice  of  you  to  dislike  me  before 
you  know  me;  I  did  n't  do  that  way  with  you!" 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  in  the  first  letter  you  ever  wrote  father 
you  sent  your  love  to  any  of  his  children  that 
should  happen  to  be  of  the  right  size.  I  chanced 
to  be  just  the  right  size,  so  I  accepted  it,  grate- 
fully; I've  got  it  here  with  me  to-night;  no,  I  left 
it  in  my  other  coat,"  he  said  merrily,  making  a 
fictitious  search  through  his  pockets. 

346 


The  Crimson  Rambler 


Nancy  laughed  at  his  nonsense;  she  could  not 
help  it. 

"Will  you  promise  to  get  over  your  foolish  and 
wicked  prejudices  if  I  on  my  part  promise  never 
to  take  the  Yellow  House  away  from  you  unless 
you  wish?"  continued  Tom. 

"Willingly,"  exclaimed  Nancy  joyously. 
"That 's  the  safest  promise  I  could  make,  for  I 
would  never  give  up  living  in  it  unless  I  had  to. 
First  it  was  father's  choice,  then  it  was  mother's, 
now  all  of  us  seem  to  have  built  ourselves  into  it, 
as  it  were.  I  am  almost  afraid  to  care  so  much 
about  anything,  and  I  shall  be  so  relieved  if  you 
do  not  turn  out  to  be  really  a  Yellow  Peril  after 
all!" 

"You  are  much  more  of  a  Yellow  Peril  your- 
self!" said  Tom,  "with  that  dress  and  that  rib- 
bon in  your  hair !  Will  you  dance  the  next  dance 
with  me,  please?" 

"It's  The  Tempest;  do  you  know  it?" 

"No,  but  I  'm  not  so  old  but  I  may  learn.  I  '11 
form  myself  on  that  wonderful  person  who  makes 
jokes  about  the  Admiral  and  plays  the  fiddle." 

"That 's  Ossian  Popham,  principal  prop  of  the 
House  of  Carey!" 

"Lucky  dog!  Have  you  got  all  the  props  you 
need?" 

Nancy's  hand  was  not  old  or  strong  or  ex- 
347 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


perienced  enough  to  keep  this  strange  young  man 
in  order,  and  just  as  she  was  meditating  some 
blighting  retort  he  went  on:  — 

"Who  is  that  altogether  adorable,  that  un- 
speakably beautiful  lady  in  black? — the  one 
with  the  pearl  comb  that  looks  like  a  crown?" 

"That  's  mother,"  said  Nancy,  glowing. 

"I  thought  so.  At  least  I  did  n't  know  any 
other  way  to  account  for  her." 

"Why  does  she  have  to  be  accounted  for?" 
asked  Nancy,  a  little  bewildered. 

"For  the  same  reason  that  you  do,"  said  the 
audacious  youth.  "You  explain  your  mother 
and  your  mother  explains  you,  a  little,  at  any 
rate.  Where  is  the  celebrated  crimson  rambler, 
please?" 

"You  are  sitting  on  it,"  Nancy  answered  tran- 
quilly. 

Tom  sprang  away  from  the  trellis,  on  which  he 
had  been  half  reclining.  "  Bless  my  soul ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  I  have  a 
great  affection  for  that  rambler;  it  was  your 
planting  it  that  first'  made  me — think  favorably 
of  you.  Has  it  any  roses  on  it?  I  can't  see  in 
this  light." 

"It  is  almost  out  of  bloom;  there  may  be  a  few 
at  the  top  somewhere;  I  '11  look  out  my  window 
to-morrow  morning  and  see." 

348 


PICK    THAT    LITTLE    CLUSTER 


The  Crimson  Rambler 


"At  about  what  hour?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  laughed  Nancy. 

"  Oh !  you  're  not  to  be  depended  on ! "  said  Tom 
rebukingly.  "Just  give  me  your  hand  a  moment; 
step  on  that  lowest  rung  of  the  trellis,  now  one 
step  higher,  please;  now  stretch  up  your  right 
hand  and  pick  that  little  cluster,  do  you  see 
it? —  That 's  right;  now  down,  be  careful,  there 
you  are,  thank  you !  A  rose  in  the  hand  is  worth 
two  in  the  morning." 

"Put it  in  your  button  hole,"  said  Nancy.  "  It 
is  the  last;  I  gave  your  father  one  of  the  first  a 
month  ago." 

"I  shall  put  this  in  my  pocket  book  and  send 
it  to  my  mother  in  a  letter,"  Tom  replied.  ("And 
tell  her  it  looks  just  like  the  girl  who  planted  it," 
he  thought;  "sweet,  fragrant,  spicy,  graceful, 
vigorous,  full  of  color.") 

"Now come  in  and  meet  mother," said  Nancy. 
"The  polka  is  over,  and  soon  they  will  be  'form- 
ing on'  for  The  Tempest." 

Tom  Hamilton's  entrance  and  introduction 
proved  so  interesting  that  it  delayed  the  dance 
for  a  few  moments.  Then  Osh  Popham  and  the 
master  fiddler  tuned  their  violins  and  Mrs.  Carey 
assisted  Susie  Bennett  at  the  piano,  so  that  there 
were  four  musicians  to  give  fresh  stimulus  to  the 
impatient  feet. 

349 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


Tom  Hamilton  hardly  knew  whether  he  would 
rather  dance  with  Nancy  or  stand  at  the  open 
door  and  watch  her  as  he  had  been  doing  earlier 
in  the  evening.  He  could  not  really  see  her  now, 
although  he  was  her  partner,  his  mind  was  so  oc- 
cupied with  the  intricate  figures,  but  he  could 
feel  her,  in  every  fibre  of  his  body,  the  touch  of 
her  light  hand  was  so  charged  with  magnetism. 

Somebody  swung  the  back  doors  of  the  barn 
wide  open.  The  fields,  lately  mown,  sloped  gently 
up  to  a  fringe  of  pines  darkly  green  against  the 
sky.  The  cool  night  air  stirred  the  elms,  and  the 
brilliant  moon  appeared  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
doorway.  The  beauty  of  the  whole  scene  went 
to  Tom  Hamilton's  head  a  little,  but  he  kept  his 
thoughts  steadily  on  the  changes  as  Osh  Pop- 
ham  called  them. 

To  watch  Nancy  Carey  dance  The  Tempest 
was  a  sight  to  stir  the  blood.  The  two  head 
couples  joined  hands  and  came  down  the  length 
of  the  barn  four  abreast;  back  they  went  in  a 
whirl;  then  they  balanced  to  the  next  couple,  then 
came  four  hands  round  and  ladies'  chain,  and 
presently  they  came  down  again  flying,  with  an- 
other four  behind  them.  The  first  four  were  Nancy 
and  Tom,  Ralph  Thurston  and  Kathleen,  the 
last  two  among  the  best  dancers  in  Beulah;  but 
while  Kitty  was  slim  and  straight  and  graceful  as 

350 


The  Crimson  Rambler 


a  young  fawn,  Nancy  swept  down  the  middle  of 
the  barn  floor  like  a  flower  borne  by  the  breeze. 
She  was  Youth,  Hope,  Joy  incarnate!  She  had 
washed  the  dishes  that  night,  would  wash  them 
again  in  the  morning,  but  what  of  that?  What 
mattered  it  that  the  years  just  ahead  (for  aught 
she  knew  to  the  contrary)  were  full  of  self-denial 
and  economy?  Was  she  not  seventeen?  Any- 
thing was  possible  at  seventeen!  What  if  the 
world  was  to  be  a  work-a-day  world?  There  was 
music  and  laughter  in  it  as  well  as  work,  and 
there  was  love  in  it,  too,  oceans  of  love,  so  why 
not  trip  and  be  merry  and  guide  one's  young 
partner  safely  through  the  difficult  mazes  of  the 
dance  and  bring  him  out  flushed  and  triumphant, 
to  receive  mother's  laughing  compliments? 

Everybody  was  dancing  The  Tempest  in  his  or 
her  own  fashion,  thought  the  Admiral,  looking 
on.  Mrs.  Popham  was  grave,  even  gloomy  from 
the  waist  up,  but  incredibly  lively  from  the  waist 
down,  moving  with  the  precision  of  machinery, 
while  her  partner,  a  bricklayer  from  Beulah  Cen- 
tre, engaged  the  attention  of  the  entire  company 
by  his  wonderful  steps.  She  was  fully  up  to  time 
too,  you  may  be  sure,  as  her  rival,  Mrs.  Bill  Har- 
mon, was  opposite  her  in  the  set.  Lallie  Joy, 
clad  in  one  of  Kathleen's  dresses,  her  hair  dressed 
by  Julia,  was  a  daily  attendant  at  the  Vacation 

351 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


School,  but  five  weeks  of  steady  instruction 
had  not  sufficed  to  make  her  sure  of  ladies' 
grand  chain.  Olive  moved  like  a  shy  little 
wild  thing,  with  a  bending  head  and  a  grace 
all  her  own,  while  Gilbert  had  great  ease  and 
distinction. 

There  was  a  brief  interval  for  ice  cream,  accom- 
panied by  marble  cake,  gold  cake,  silver  cake, 
election  cake,  sponge  cake,  cup  cake,  citron  cake, 
and  White  Mountain  cake,  and  while  it  was 
being  eaten,  Susie  Bennett  played  The  Sliding 
Waltz,  The  Maiden's  Prayer,  and  Listen  to  the 
Mocking  Bird  with  variations;  variations  requir- 
ing almost  supernatural  celerity. 

"I  guess  there  ain't  many  that  can  touch  Sutey 
at  the  piano!"  said  Osh  Popham,  who  sat  beside 
the  Admiral.  "Have  you  seen  anybody  in  the 
cities  that  could  play  any  faster  'n  she  can? 
And  do  you  ever  ketch  her  landin'  on  a  black 
note  when  she  started  for  a  white  one  ?  I  guess 
not!" 

"You  are  right! "replied  the  Admiral,  "and 
now  there  seems  to  be  a  general  demand  for  you. 
What  are  they  requesting  you  to  do,  — fly?" 

"That 's  it,"  said  Osh.  "Mis'  Carey,  will  you 
play  for  me?  Maria,  you  can  go  into  the  carriage 
house  if  you  don't  want  to  be  disgraced." 


352 


The  Crimson  Rambler 


"  Come,  my  beloved,  haste  away, 
Cut  short  the  hours  of  thy  delay. 
Fly  like  a  youthful  hart  or  roe 
Over  the  hills  where  spices  grow." 

At  length  the  strains  of  the  favorite  old  tune 
faded  on  the  ears  of  the  delighted  audience.  Then 
they  had  The  Portland  Fancy  and  The  Irish 
Washerwoman  and  The  College  Hornpipe,  and 
at  last  the  clock  in  the  carriage  house  struck  mid- 
night and  the  guests  departed  in  groups  of  twos 
and  threes  and  fours,  their  cheerful  voices  sound- 
ing far  down  the  village  street. 

Osh  Popham  stayed  behind  to  cover  the  piano, 
put  out  the  lanterns,  close  the  doors  and  windows, 
and  lock  the  barn,  while  Mrs.  Carey  and  the  Ad- 
miral strolled  slowly  along  the  greensward  to  the 
side  door  of  the  house. 

"Good-night,"  Osh  called  happily  as  he  passed 
them  a  few  minutes  later.  "I  guess  Beulah  never 
see  a  party  such  as  ourn  was,  this  evenin' !  I 
guess  if  the  truth  was  known,  the  State  o'  Maine 
never  did,  neither !  Good-night,  all !  Mebbe  if  I 
hurry  along  I  can  ketch  up  with  Maria!" 

His  quick  steps  brushing  the  grassy  pathway 
could  be  heard  for  some  minutes  in  the  clear  still 
air,  and  presently  the  sound  of  his  mellow  tenor 
came  floating  back:  — 


353 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


"  Come,  my  beloved,  haste  away, 
Cut  short  the  hours  of  thy  delay. 
Fly  like  a  youthful  hart  or  roe 
Over  the  hills  where  spices  grow." 

Julia  had  gone  upstairs  with  the  sleepy  Peter- 
bird,  who  had  been  enjoying  his  first  experience 
of  late  hours  on  the  occasion  of  Nancy's  coming 
out;  the  rest  of  the  young  folks  were  gathered  in 
a  group  under  the  elms,  chatting  in  couples,  — 
Olive  and  Ralph  Thurston,  Kathleen  and  Cyril 
Lord,  Nancy  and  Tom  Hamilton.  Then  they 
parted,  Tom  Hamilton  strolling  to  the  country 
hotel  with  the  young  school  teacher  for  com- 
panion, while  Olive  and  Cyril  walked  across  the 
fields  to  the  House  of  Lords. 

It  was  a  night  in  a  thousand.  The  air  was 
warm,  clear,  and  breathlessly  still;  so  still  that 
not  a  leaf  stirred  on  the  trees.  The  sky  was  cloud- 
less, and  the  moon,  brilliant  and  luminous,  shone 
as  it  seldom  shines  in  a  northern  clime.  The 
water  was  low  in  Beulah's  shining  river  and  it  ran 
almost  noiselessly  under  the  bridge.  While  Kath- 
leen and  Julia  were  still  unbraiding  their  hair,  ex- 
claiming at  every  twist  of  the  hand  as  to  the 
"loveliness"  of  the  party,  Nancy  had  kissed  her 
mother  and  crept  silently  into  bed.  All  night 
long  the  strains  of  The  Tempest  ran  through  her 
dreams.   There  was  the  touch  of  a  strange  hand 

354 


The  Crimson  Rambler 


on  hers,  an  altogether  new  touch,  warm  and  com- 
pelling. There  was  the  gay  trooping  down  the 
centre  of  the  barn  in  fours,  —  some  one  by  her 
side  who  had  never  been  there  before,  —  and  a 
sensation  entirely  new  and  intoxicating,  that 
whenever  she  met  the  glance  of  her  partner's 
merry  dark  eyes  she  found  herself  at  the  bottom 
of  them. 

Was  she  a  child  when  she  heard  Osh  Popham 
cry:  "Take  your  partners  for  The  Tempest!" 
and  was  she  a  woman  when  he  called:  "All  prom- 
enade to  seats!"  She  hardly  knew.  Beulah  was 
a  dream;  the  Yellow  House  was  a  dream,  the 
dance  was  a  dream,  the  partner  was  a  dream.  At 
one  moment  she  was  a  child  helping  her  father  to 
plant  the  crimson  rambler,  at  another  she  was  a 
woman  pulling  a  rose  from  the  topmost  branch 
and  giving  it  to  some  one  who  steadied  her  hand 
on  the  trellis;  some  one  who  said  "Thank  you" 
and  "Good-night"  differently  from  the  rest  of 
the  world. 

Who  was  the  young  stranger?  Was  he  the 
Knight  of  Beulah  Castle,  the  Overlord  of  the  Yel- 
low House,  was  he  the  Yellow  Peril,  was  he  a  good 
bird  to  whom  Mother  Carey's  chicken  had  shown 
the  way  home  ?  Still  the  dream  went  on  in  bewil- 
dering circles,  and  Nancy  kept  hearing  mysteri- 
ous phrases  spoken  with  a  new  meaning.  —  "Will 

355 


Mother  Carey's  Chickens 


you  dance  with  me?"  "Doesn't  the  House  of 
Carey  need  another  prop?"  "Won't  you  give 
me  a  rose?"  and  above  all:  "You  sent  your  love 
to  any  one  of  the  Hamilton  children  who  should 
be  of  the  right  size;  I  was  just  the  right  size,  and 
I  took  it!" 

"Love  could  n't  be  sent  in  a  letter!"  expostu- 
lated Nancy  in  the  dream;  and  somebody,  in  the 
dream,  always  answered,  "Don't  be  so  sure! 
Very  strange  things  happen  when  Mother  Carey's 
messengers  go  out  over  the  seas.  Don't  you  re- 
member how  they  spoke  to  Tom  in  '  The  Water 
Babies '? — Among  all  the  songs  that  came  across 
the  water  one  was  more  sweet  and  clear  than  all, 
for  it  was  the  song  of  a  young  girl's  voice.  .  .  . 
And  what  was  the  song  that  she  sung?  .  .  .  Have 
patience,  keep  your  eye  single  and  your  hands 
clean,  and  you  will  learn  some  day  to  sing  it  your- 
self, without  needing  any  man  to  teach  you!" 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


